Ne glede na to, kam te ponesejo poti, bolj ko se potovanje bliža koncu, bolj pri sebi delaš nekakšno inventuro. Še posebej, kadar gre za deželo, kot je Škotska, ki je bila od nekdaj visoko na seznamu »must go, must see«.
Že takoj lahko brez pomislekov rečem, da nas ni razočarala. Pravzaprav je to veliko težje doseči pri potovanjih, od katerih že vnaprej veliko pričakuješ, kot pri tistih, na katera se odpraviš brez posebnih predstav in pričakovanj.
Škotska skozi naše oči
Škotsko sem si predstavljala kot zeleno deželo prostranega višavja, neštetih gradov in skrivnostnih jezer. Seveda sem bila prepričana tudi, da bomo prav mi tisti, ki bomo ob obisku Loch Nessa končno zagledali Nessie.
No, to je bilo pravzaprav edino škotsko razočaranje, saj Nessie ni bilo nikjer. Očitno je imela tisti dan dopust.
Zaradi večstoletne povezanosti z Anglijo sem si v svoji glavi napletla tudi zgodbo, da bodo Škoti precej podobni Angležem. Kako zelo sem se motila. Očitno še vedno drži tisto, da knjige ne gre soditi po platnicah.
Prav vsak, s katerim smo navezali stik, pa naj je šlo le za bežno srečanje ali daljši pogovor, je bil prijazen, zgovoren, nasmejan in odprt. Preprosto takšen tip ljudi, ki mi je blizu, zato je morda tudi moje navdušenje nad Škotsko toliko večje.
Tudi puncama je bila Škotska vsekakor vredna obiska. Od smeha na račun »goveda s slabo frizuro«, kot je višavsko govedo poimenoval Igor, do neuspešnega iskanja Nessie, skupnih zabavnih trenutkov ni manjkalo.
Višavsko govedo svoje pričeske sicer nosi zelo samozavestno, zato sklepam, da ga Igorjevo mnenje ni posebej prizadelo.
Potovanje, ki nas je spet povezalo
Škotska je bila tudi odlična priložnost za urjenje angleščine. Punci sta začeli samostojneje navezovati stike in se sporazumevati, hkrati pa je koristila tudi nama, saj angleščine ne uporabljava več vsak mesec, pravzaprav niti vsak teden, kaj šele vsak dan.
Na začetku morda v glavi še sestavljaš popoln stavek, sogovornik pa medtem že čaka na odgovor, toda po nekaj dneh besede vendarle stečejo. Če ne drugače, si pomagaš z rokami, nasmehom in univerzalnim turističnim jezikom: »Sorry, could you say that again?«
Predvsem pa smo po dolgem času znova potovali nekoliko drugače. Veliko smo se premikali, menjavali kraje in nastanitve ter se vrnili k načinu »vse, kar imam, nosim s seboj« v nahrbtniku.
Če česa ne moreš spraviti vanj, tega očitno ne potrebuješ. No, vsaj to je moja tolažba, ko ne morem vzeti s seboj toliko, kot si želim …
Tudi čas med pohodi, vožnjami in pešačenjem do nastanitev smo dobro izkoristili. Za vsakdanje pogovore, vprašanja o potovanju, opazovanje sveta skozi okna avtobusov in vlakov ter pogovore o vsem, kar smo srečevali na poti.
Pravzaprav smo bili skupaj veliko več kot doma, kjer nas potegnejo šolske, obšolske in službene obveznosti ter vsakdanji ritem.
Glasgow, Edinburgh in dva različna obraza Škotske
Kar zadeva Edinburgh in Glasgow, moram priznati, da bi Glasgow zlahka izpustila s seznama krajev, ki bi jih želela še enkrat obiskati. Name preprosto ni naredil posebnega vtisa. Zakaj, niti sama ne znam natančno pojasniti.
Morda je bil razlog prav velik kontrast z nekaj dnevi, ki smo jih pred tem preživeli v škotskem višavju, kjer je vse umirjeno, počasno, naravno in pristno. Nato pa se po nekaj urah vožnje znajdeš v Glasgowu. V povsem drugačnem svetu, polnem vrveža, hrupa in predvsem tistega dobro znanega, meni precej odbijajočega vonja po travi. Ne tisti zeleni škotski travi, da ne bo pomote.
Edinburgh pa je povsem druga zgodba. Glavno mesto, ki se ga kar ne moreš naveličati. Nikjer stolpnic, nikjer občutka velikega in neosebnega mesta. Ravno nasprotno.
Ko sem zgodaj zjutraj, še ob zori, odgrnila zavese, je bila ulica pod oknom tiha in mirna kot prizor iz filma, postavljenega nekam v 19. stoletje. Le avtomobili ob pločniku so razkrivali, da smo vendarle v nekem drugem času. Če bi mimo pripeljala še kočija, se mi to najbrž sploh ne bi zdelo nenavadno.
Zeleno, ki te ljubim zeleno
In potem je tu seveda še višavje.
»Zeleno, ki te ljubim zeleno.«
Verz Federica Garcíe Lorce, ki mi še danes, po vseh teh letih, odmeva v spominu na gimnazijska leta in profesorico slovenščine. Pravzaprav si težko predstavljam besede, ki bi lepše opisale Škotsko.
Saj ne, da sami živimo sredi mesta. Tudi zdaj, ko zapisujem zaključne misli o našem potovanju, skozi okno gledam smreko. Desno od računalnika leži telefon, na njegovem zaslonu pa fotografija Nie in Nare.
V jaknah sedita na klopci le nekaj sto metrov od Nessie in zajtrkujeta. Okoli njiju zelena trava, v ozadju teče potok, na obrazih pa široka nasmeha. Koruzni kosmiči verjetno še nikoli niso bili tako dobri.
Ko v očeh svojih otrok vidiš pristno srečo, pravzaprav ne potrebuješ ničesar več. Kaj bi ti lahko bolj ogrelo srce?
Morda so prav ti vmesni trenutki tisti, ki bodo na koncu ostali najdlje. Ne le gradovi, jezera, mesta in škotsko višavje, temveč tudi skupna hoja, smeh, pogovori, zajtrki na klopcah in zavedanje, da smo skupaj. Zares skupaj.
Škotska je tako upravičila prav vsa naša pričakovanja in si prislužila posebno mesto med našimi potovanji. Če bi se prikazala še Nessie, bi bilo že skoraj preveč popolno. Poleg tega pa potrebujemo vsaj en razlog, da se nekoč vrnemo.
Do naslednjega potovanja
Zdaj nas naslednji čakajo naši čarobni Tenerifi. A teh pravzaprav sploh ne štejem več za potovanje. Tenerifi so naš drugi dom. Kraj, kjer preživimo del poletnih počitnic in kjer sem mirna, sproščena in srečna.
Skoraj tako kot doma, le da je tam topleje, pred nosom imamo Atlantski ocean, na krožnikih pa precej več morske hrane. Če sem čisto iskrena, je to nekoliko izboljšana različica doma.
Kam in kdaj nas bo odneslo naslednje pravo potovanje, pa tokrat še čudežno ne vemo. Za nas je to skoraj nenavadno stanje in ne vem, koliko časa bo trajalo.
Verjetno le do trenutka, ko bo nekdo mimogrede omenil zanimiv kraj, jaz pa bom »samo malo pogledala« letalske vozovnice.
Do naslednjega potovanja torej. Kamorkoli že bo, kajti najlepše poti so pogosto prav tiste, za katere še niti ne veš, da te čakajo.
Prebudili smo se v oblačno jutro, eno izmed redkih na tem potovanju. V desetih dneh smo imeli kar osem sončnih dni, od tega štiri s povsem čistim nebom. Nekaj malega je porosilo v Fort Williamu in to je bilo to.
Vse skupaj popolnoma neškotsko. A nad tem se res ni za pritoževati.
Kljub sivemu nebu smo se odločili, da Glasgow raziščemo peš. Dežniki so bili za vsak slučaj pripravljeni v nahrbtniku, sicer pa je bil to naš zadnji dan tu in malo je stvari, ki bi nas lahko zadržale v hotelski sobi.
Pa niti ni bilo nujno, da bi dež današnji Glasgow pokvaril.
Morda ravno nasprotno.
Če obstajajo mesta, ki so videti dobro pod sivim nebom, je Glasgow vsekakor med njimi.
Na enega takšnih prizorov smo naleteli že v prvi minuti po odhodu iz hotela.
Navajen si naših cerkva in njihovih zvonikov, zato ti pogled hitro pritegne cerkev na koncu ulice z visokim, koničastim stolpom.
Predvidevaš, da je to gotika, saj pri taki obliki stolpov nimaš kaj zgrešiti.
Skoraj točno.
Pozneje sem prebral, da gre za neogotiko. Nič dramatičnega, saj je z laičnega vidika to popolnoma nepomembno.
Arhitekturna zgodovina bi mi tu verjetno zabrusila: »Nepomembno, ja. Zgrešil si samo za kakšnih 500 let.«
Kakorkoli že, ta višina, koničaste oblike in temno jutranje nebo so tam na cesti izpadli dobro.
Po Edinburghu smo očitno postali razvajeni
Bolj ko smo hodili, bolj se je jasnilo. Kot da bi nekdo odrezal oblake, ki so še nekaj korakov nazaj napovedovali dež. Nebo se je začelo trgati, kamen je spet dobil barve, tista gotska resnost pa je počasi izginjala.
Tako kot v skoraj vsakem večjem mestu se tudi v Glasgowu gradi na polno. Kamorkoli smo pogledali, je iz mestne silhuete štrlel vsaj kakšen žerjav. Med gledanjem v višino smo se znašli pred stavbo, na kateri je pisalo King’s Theatre.
Pogledali smo jo, naredili fotko in šli naprej.
Nadaljujemo po dolgi, popolnoma ravni ulici. Na naslednjem križišču čez cesto zagledamo veliko stavbo z zeleno kupolo.
»Tole mora biti kakšna knjižnica,« si rečem.
In res je bila.
Po Edinburghu smo očitno postali nekoliko razvajeni. Tako gledališče kot knjižnica se nam na prvi pogled nista zdela nič posebnega.
Če imaš voljo, si o obeh kaj prebereš in ugotoviš, da ju vendarle ne gre podcenjevati.
V gledališču je nekoč nastopala tudi Katharine Hepburn, tako da smo si z njo že drugič v nekaj mesecih delili isto lokacijo. Februarja smo hodili po Španskih stopnicah v Rimu, kjer je z Gregoryjem Peckom snemala Rimske počitnice, zdaj pa smo stali pred gledališčem, v katerem je nastopala.
Knjižnica pa sodi med največje javne knjižnice v Evropi in hrani več kot milijon različnih gradiv.
Včasih se je lepo izgubljati
Všeč mi je, ko po mestu hodiš peš in se nekoliko izgubljaš med ulicami. Navigacija je dovolj samo za to, da približno veš, v katero smer moraš. Potem pa križariš, kot te je volja, in na vsakem križišču pogledaš, kaj se skriva levo, desno ali naravnost.
Na enem takšnih križišč se nam je čisto na koncu ulice odprl zanimiv pogled. Zlata kupola, ob njej pa kot nekakšen stražar še visok, koničast cerkveni stolp. Jasno, neogotski je. Zdaj to že obvladamo.
Zlata kupola pa pripada sikhovskemu templju.
Ah, prehitro sem se hvalil. Pojma nimam, kaj je sikhizem. Google.
Okej, gre za monoteistično religijo, ki izvira iz Indije in ima po svetu približno 25 milijonov pripadnikov.
Zanimivo, a ne dovolj, da bi se sprehodili do tja.
Na drugi strani ceste smo nekoliko višje zagledali drevesa in nekaj več zelenja, zato smo prečkali cesto in zavili navkreber. Univerza, ki je bila naš cilj, je bila tako ali tako nekje v tisti smeri.
Nismo prišli daleč, ko so se pred nami pojavili novi stolpi. Tokrat kar štirje. Zanimiv je bil predvsem eden, tisti na levi.
Visok, kamnit in tako zelo podoben stolpom britanskega parlamenta, da me je v trenutku spomnil na London. Videti je bilo, kot da bi nekdo odlomil kos parlamenta, ga pripeljal na Škotsko in skril na ta hrib v Glasgowu.
Vse to smo odkrili v nekaj minutah, ne da bi bilo karkoli od tega v našem načrtu. In zagotovo bi vse skupaj spregledali, če bi se namesto peš naokoli vozili s kakšnim prevozom.
Včasih se je lepo izgubljati.
Kelvingrove Park: prvi pogled je varal
Od stolpov na hribu smo sledili posameznim drevesom, ki so nas počasi vodila navzdol. Kmalu smo stali pred tablo Kelvingrove Park.
Park pod univerzo.
Torej smo ga vendarle našli.
Našo pozornost je pritegnila predvsem velika siva zgradba na drugi strani. Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum.
No, pa pojdimo pogledat v tisto smer.
Prvih nekaj metrov sicer ni bilo ravno takšnih, kot bi jih mestni turistični urad verjetno izbral za naslovnico.
Očitno jim še ni uspelo počistiti smetnjakov, saj so bile smeti razmetane vse naokrog. Ampak dobro, dokler je samo to.
Že če si se obrnil za 180 stopinj, je bil razgled precej prijaznejši. Povsod zelenje, kot se za park spodobi, sem in tja pa je med drevesi pokukal kakšen stolp univerze.
Za tole fontano pa stoji precej večja zgodba.
Leta 1859 so v Glasgow pripeljali čisto vodo iz skoraj 50 kilometrov oddaljenega jezera Loch Katrine. Za tisti čas je bil to izjemen inženirski projekt. Nekako tako, kot če bi danes za oskrbo mesta zgradili povsem nov vodovodni sistem od Ljubljane do Bleda. Le da iz enačbe odstranimo bagre, tovornjake in drugo sodobno mehanizacijo ter jih zamenjamo s konji, voli in, ker smo ravno na Škotskem, dodajmo še kakšno dolgodlako višavsko kravo.
Čista voda je močno izboljšala življenjske razmere v hitro rastočem mestu in pomagala omejevati bolezni.
In na vse to danes spominja tale precej preprosta fontana. Za njo pa zgodba, precej večja od nje same.
Elvis Presley iz steklenih vlaken
Pot skozi park nas je pripeljala do muzeja, tistega sivega pravokotnika, ki smo ga opazili na tabli ob vstopu.
Sivino je zdaj zamenjala rdečkasta stavba, ki je bolj spominjala na palačo kot na muzej.
Vstop je brezplačen. Še en razlog več, da si ga greš pogledat, če si že tu.
Kelvingrove je precej nenavaden muzej. Meni se je zdelo, kot da bi vstopil v ogromno starinarnico navdušenega zbiratelja, ki je skozi življenje zbiral vse, kar mu je bilo v nekem trenutku všeč.
Najprej maketa sončnega sistema, potem se od nekod pojavi vitraž, ki je nekoč očitno krasil okno kakšne cerkve ali samostana.
Nekaj korakov naprej te čaka pravi viteški oklep.
Deluje resno in masivno. Ravno ko z mislimi zatavaš v srednji vek ter razmišljaš, kako so se v kaj takega sploh spravili, kaj šele, kako so se v njem bojevali, se vsa ta resnost v trenutku razblini.
Sredi hodnika te namreč pričaka živo modra skulptura kralja rokenrola. Iz steklenih vlaken. Futuristični Elvis torej.
Sodeč po trebuhu mora biti že bolj proti koncu kariere.
V naslednji dvorani pod stropom visi pravi Spitfire. Letalo, ki je postalo eden od simbolov britanskega boja proti nacistični Nemčiji.
Pod njim pa … sloni.
Največji med njimi je Sir Roger, pravi azijski slon, ki je nekoč živel v tukajšnjem živalskem vrtu.
Nadaljuješ mimo Rani Lakshmibai, indijske kraljice, ki se je uprla britanski oblasti. Tokrat je bilo okoli nje vsaj še nekaj podobnih kipcev, očitno povezanih z nekdanjimi britanskimi kolonijami.
Noben fluorescentni Elvis ni več skočil v oči.
A ravno ko misliš, da si ugotovil logiko muzeja, se pojavijo nenavadne maske iz Oceanije, inuitska oprava v družbi polarnih lisic in severnih medvedov ter velik totemski steber severnoameriških staroselcev.
V nekaj metrih obhodiš pol sveta in še pol zgodovine, s tem da na koncu niti sam ne veš več, kje in kdaj si.
Ko že misliš, da si videl vse, nad stopniščem zagledaš še množico človeških glav.
Gre za umetniško instalacijo Expression.
Kaj je poanta vsega tega, se nisem poglabljal. Ampak če ti vzbudi radovednost in se ob njej ustaviš, je bil namen verjetno že nekako dosežen.
In potem pridemo do verjetno najbolj znane stvari v celotnem muzeju. Salvador Dalí in njegov Kristus svetega Janeza od Križa, ki je bil izbran za najljubšo sliko Škotske.
Že prvi pogled pove, da Dalí križanja ni naslikal ravno tako, kot smo ga vajeni. Kristusa gledamo skoraj naravnost od zgoraj, brez krvi, žebljev in ran, pod njim pa se odpira mirna obalna pokrajina.
Dalí je s sliko poskušal povezati vero in znanost. V svojih »kozmičnih sanjah« naj bi videl podobo jedra atoma, ki je zanj dobilo metafizični pomen in postalo simbol Kristusa ter enotnosti vesolja.
Pa že, če tako on reče.
Konfuzno? Počakaj, ni še konec.
Malo naprej te že čaka okostje ogromnega jelena. In seveda, ker vse to očitno še ni čisto dovolj, ti za konec pustijo še okostje dinozavra.
Tako, mislim, da smo zdaj videli vse.
Ampak res vse.
Elvis has left the building.
Koliko kelvinov ima reka Kelvin?
Zunaj smo pojedli malico in takrat je začelo kapljati.
No, pa smo ga le dočakali.
Škotski dež.
Kakšne posebne drame ni bilo, saj nas je pot vodila pod gostimi krošnjami dreves, zato nam je bilo večinoma prizaneseno. Pot je bila prav prijetna, še posebej, ker smo že pri prvem drevesu dobili košato spremljevalko.
Veverico.
Očitno navajena ljudi se nam je večkrat povsem približala.
Če smo hoteli priti do univerze, smo morali prečkati še most čez reko Kelvin.
Fizik William Thomson, profesor na bližnji Univerzi v Glasgowu, je ob prejemu plemiškega naziva postal Lord Kelvin. Ime si je izbral prav po tej reki, po njem pa je nato ime dobila Kelvinova temperaturna lestvica.
In koliko kelvinov je imela reka Kelvin, ko smo šli čez most?
Kakšnih 283, kar ti pove natanko nič.
Deset stopinj Celzija se sliši precej bolje.
Bradavičarka brez Harryja Potterja
Univerza stoji na vrhu hriba. V primerjavi s tistimi nesrečnimi zabojniki, ki so nas pričakali v Kelvingrove Parku, je bilo tukaj vse urejeno. Študentje so hiteli na predavanja, mi pa smo se počasi vzpenjali proti vrhu.
Gre za četrto najstarejšo univerzo v angleško govorečem svetu. Koncept je precej drugačen od tistega, ki smo ga vajeni pri nas. V Ljubljani so posamezne fakultete raztresene po različnih delih mesta, tukaj pa je velik del univerzitetnega življenja zbran na enem kampusu. Pravo, ekonomija, družbene in humanistične vede, jeziki, matematika, fizika, računalništvo, inženirstvo, medicina …
Praktično majhno mesto študentov sredi Glasgowa.
Na vrhu te pričaka ogromno pročelje univerze, ki je bilo preveliko, da bi ga spravil v en kader.
Ko smo ga prehodili po vsej dolžini, se je ulilo.
Zbežali smo skozi vhod na notranje dvorišče.
In tam je bilo vse tako, kot mora biti na stari britanski univerzi: kamen, trava, visoka okna, stolpi s stožčastimi strehami in dva velika notranja četverokotnika, ki ju povezuje obokan prehod s stebri.
Verjetno je to eden najbolj fotogeničnih kotičkov univerze. Nič čudnega, da celoten kompleks pogosto primerjajo s Hogwartsom. Harryja Potterja sicer tukaj niso snemali, a ko se sprehodiš pod temi oboki, primerjava niti ni tako zelo privlečena za lase.
Kje so pa klopce?
Uber nas je odložil na drugi strani mesta pred katedralo. Še vedno je deževalo, zato smo hitro vstopili.
Prvi del katedrale je skoraj prazen. Ogromen kamnit prostor, v katerem te nekje na sredini pričaka tudi stojnica s spominki.
Tega ravno ne pričakuješ.
Med hojo proti drugemu koncu katedrale mi nekaj ni šlo skupaj. Glavna ladja se namreč nenadoma konča. Molitvenega prostora pa nikjer.
Nato greš skozi kamnito pregrado in znajdeš se v povsem drugačnem prostoru.
No, v bistvu niti ne. Samo klopce so dali sem.
Zdaj je že bolj podobno cerkvi.
Je pa lepo. Visok lesen strop, dolga vrsta obokov, veliki vitraži in seveda klopce.
Pozneje sem prebral, da je bila takšna delitev načrtna. Kamnita pregrada je nekoč ločevala prostor za običajne vernike od dela katedrale, namenjenega duhovščini.
Mesto mrtvih nad mestom živih
Nad katedralo se dviga nekropola. Zopet nekaj nenavadnega, saj smo prvič videli pokopališče na hribu.
Pravzaprav se grobovi začnejo že okoli same katedrale, nato pa se nadaljujejo po pobočju. Nekateri so preprosti nagrobniki, drugi pravi mali templji, mavzoleji in spomeniki.
Bolj kot na klasično pokopališče vse skupaj spominja na park. Med grobovi vodijo poti, povsod je zelenje in višje ko prideš, bolj se odpira pogled na Glasgow.
Na nekropoli je pokopanih okoli 50.000 ljudi, čeprav je grobnic in spomenikov le okoli 3.500. Veliko pokojnikov je bilo pokopanih v skupnih, neoznačenih grobovih, zato so nekatere današnje zelene površine pravzaprav grobišča tisočev ljudi.
Očitno si tudi v smrti nismo enaki.
Proti vrhu izstopa spomenik Johnu Knoxu, glavnemu reformatorju, ki je imel ključno vlogo pri prehodu Škotske iz katoliške v protestantsko državo. Ta spomenik je stal že pred nastankom pokopališča.
Torej pokopališče ni dobilo spomenika. Spomenik je dobil pokopališče.
Tak pa je razgled čisto z vrha.
Če ne bi stal sredi pokopališča, bi bilo skoraj lepo.
Ko Glasgow postane galerija
Do večera je bilo še daleč, dež je ponehal, energije pa smo imeli še dovolj. Namesto novega Uberja smo se zato odločili, da se do nastanitve vrnemo peš.
In prav na tej poti smo po naključju našli nekaj, pri čemer Glasgow po mojem prekaša celo Edinburgh.
Ogromne prazne stene večnadstropnih stavb so tukaj spremenili v prava umetniška platna.
Pravijo jim murali.
To nam je bilo res všeč.
Dolgočasna prazna stena lahko ostane dolgočasna prazna stena.
Lahko pa jo daš nekomu, ki zna iz nje narediti nekaj, zaradi česar se med hojo po mestu ustaviš in z veseljem pogledaš.
Ideja, ki bi jo lahko brez težav ukradli tudi v Sloveniji. Umetnikov, ki bi znali takšne stene spremeniti v nekaj zanimivega, imamo zagotovo dovolj.
Nekje na poti smo se ustavili še na kosilu, nato pa nas je čakal samo še zadnji vzpon proti hotelu.
Eno naših najlepših potovanj
Po desetih dneh hoje, vlakov, avtobusov, Uberjev, gradov, jezer, gora in mest se je naše potovanje po Škotski počasi bližalo koncu.
Jutri nas čakata le še pot do edinburškega letališča in polet nazaj proti Sloveniji.
Kako je Anja doživljala naše potovanje po Škotski, pa bo napisala v naslednjem zapisu.
Če mene kdo vpraša?
To je bilo eno naših najlepših potovanj.
Imelo je vse. Mesta in gradove, Harryja Potterja, jezera in gore, dolge vožnje z vlaki, iskanje Nessie, skrivnosti in zgodbe, zaradi katerih Škotska nikoli ni bila samo še ena država, skozi katero smo potovali.
Na naši lestvici je takoj za Helsinki in obiskom Božička v Rovaniemiju.
Glasgow → Kelvingrove Park → Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum → reka Kelvin → Univerza v Glasgowu → Glasgow Cathedral → Glasgow Necropolis → murali Glasgowa → Glasgow
We arrived at the station quite early that morning, with more than an hour to go before our train was due to leave. Anja and I had already had our coffee at the apartment, but none of us felt like staying there a minute longer. You know the feeling: there’s another journey ahead, new views, a new adventure, and our final stop.
Glasgow.
That day also marked our farewell to the Highlands. After Edinburgh, they had grown on us more and more with each passing day. First came the train journey across the Scottish Highlands to Inverness, then Loch Ness and the route through the Great Glen between lochs and mountains, followed by Fort William, Ben Nevis and that viaduct, which had been one of the main reasons we came here in the first place. And, of course, our boat trip on Loch Linnhe.
Over those few days, we had experienced the Highlands in all sorts of ways: from trains and buses, from a boat, and above all on foot. Lochs, valleys, mountains and small towns, with miles of countryside in between where there seemed to be almost nothing at all, apart from the views that made the journey all the more beautiful and interesting.
With plenty of time to spare at the station, I went to see one last thing in Fort William. Practically across the road lie the remains of the old fort that gave the town its present-day name.
Not much of it remains today, just a few stone ruins scattered across a grassy field. The fort was built in a strategic position on the shores of Loch Linnhe, at the entrance to the Great Glen, from where one of the main routes through the Scottish Highlands could be controlled.
That route through the Highlands still exists today, although its purpose is rather different. This is where the Great Glen Way begins, or ends, a walking trail of just under 120 kilometres between Fort William and Inverness.It follows almost the same route we had travelled over the previous few days.
Plenty of people walk it.
We weren’t quite so enthusiastic about that idea, so we covered the distance in considerably more comfort. By bus.
As I made my way back towards the station, I spotted something across the road that had apparently also recognised Fort William’s strategic location.
Opposite the ruins of the old fort stands a McDonald’s.
By Train Through the Highlands, Volume 2
Here in Scotland, train tickets are something you need to think about in advance, even outside the peak season. I had bought ours through the Trainline app before we even left home, and it turned out to be the right decision.
The platform was packed.
When you buy your tickets, you also reserve your seats, although there was a slight concern that we might get a repeat of what had happened on our journey from Edinburgh to Inverness. Back then, the train had arrived with fewer carriages than planned, which meant that our reserved seats simply didn’t exist.
Physically.
So we took whatever individual seats were still available. Each of us somewhere on our own, as if we weren’t a family at all but had had a massive argument just before getting on the train.
We survived that too.
And not only that. Despite everything, the journey itself was beautiful, mainly because of the scenery passing by outside the window.
This time, everything was exactly as it should be. Our carriage existed, and so did our seats. This time, we even had a table.
Perfect.
Soon after leaving Fort William, it becomes clear just how little it takes to find yourself back in the middle of nowhere in this part of Scotland.
The town disappears behind us, with the occasional isolated house here and there, and then there is nothing but nature.
Every now and then, a stream cuts through the landscape, forests alternate with open hillsides along the railway, while water stays with us almost constantly on our right.
Then the train climbs a little higher.
And up here, there really was nothing.
I don’t know, but my first thought was that we had somehow ended up on the Moon. Bare hillsides, with no houses, roads or any other signs of civilisation.
Only the yellowish grass gave away the fact that we were still on Earth.
And then you spot two hikers through the window.
Well, we definitely weren’t on the Moon!
Step by step, they were making their way towards the end of their journey, probably Fort William. Watching them, I almost felt a little guilty. There they were, walking every single metre, while we were comfortably experiencing the whole thing through a train window.
But everyone has their own idea of how to travel.
And I think I can say with some confidence that we were all exactly where we wanted to be.
And then it begins. Through the window, the landscape of the Scottish Highlands starts unfolding before you, each view building on the last.
That yellowish grass is everywhere, of course. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a small loch appears.
Then another.
And then more. The little lochs keep multiplying, with more and more blue appearing among the yellowish grass.
The little lochs gradually give way to a larger one.
Beyond it rise brownish-yellow hills, with the occasional patch of snow still visible in the distance.
Soon, another colour joins the scene.
Green.
Trees and forests bring it into the landscape.
And above it all, the blue sky completes the picture.
Yellowish grass, blue lochs, brown hills, white patches of snow, green forests and a blue sky.
Each new colour adds another layer to the last, until together they form the landscape of the Scottish Highlands.
It’s Not Over Yet
Somewhere around here, the girls fell asleep.
You almost feel like closing your eyes for a while too. After all that gradual build-up, you don’t really expect the landscape to have much more up its sleeve.
And once again, you’re wrong.
The train runs high above the valley, and just as we are about to leave it behind, a hill suddenly comes into view behind us, looking as though it might erupt at any moment.
Like some kind of miniature volcano.
After that, the Scottish Highlands slowly began to fade behind us.
If I had to compare our two big train journeys across Scotland, I wouldn’t hesitate much. The journey from Edinburgh to Inverness gets a straight five out of five from me. Maybe partly because it was the first, and we had no idea what to expect. This time, we at least had some idea of what lay ahead.
Don’t get me wrong, this journey wasn’t bad either.
A solid four out of five.
Perhaps a little unfair, because the scenery here was beautiful too. But the first one was just that. The first.
And you never forget your first.
Welcome to Glasgow
And what was our final stop before flying home?
Glasgow.
Scotland’s largest city. Just like Edinburgh, there’s stone everywhere, broad streets and imposing old buildings.
But something felt different.
Edinburgh had a certain elegance that you noticed almost immediately. I didn’t get that same feeling in Glasgow. It seemed harder, rougher around the edges.
To be fair, I hadn’t expected much from the city. It had made it into our itinerary mainly because it made far more sense logistically as our final stop than travelling all the way back to Edinburgh from Fort William.
But what do they say?
Never judge a book by its cover.
First, though, we had to get to our hotel. After more than three hours on the train, none of us felt like walking through the city with our backpacks.
Uber. Let’s go.
We didn’t last long at the hotel either. Our stomachs had other ideas. So, back into the city centre.
Within the first few steps, you realise that Glasgow is anything but flat. The streets are constantly rising and falling, and hills are simply part of everyday life here.
After a few days surrounded by lochs, hills and small towns, we suddenly found ourselves back in the middle of a big city. And once again, we had to pay a lot more attention to the traffic.
Especially to the fact that they drive on the left.
You just never quite get used to it. You look left, you look right, and then, just to be safe, you look left again.
Most of the streets were one-way anyway, but at every junction you still found yourself wondering which direction the next car was going to come from.
Well, Let’s Just Go to McDonald’s
We were slowly making our way towards the city centre, still keeping an eye out for somewhere to eat along the way.
At one point, we passed a rather interesting statue. Standing in the middle of the city is a bronze firefighter in full protective gear.
The statue is dedicated to firefighters from Glasgow and the surrounding area. It was unveiled in 2001, and later that same year it also became a place of remembrance for the firefighters who lost their lives in the attacks in New York.
What a coincidence. I’m writing this very section today, on 11 September. Twenty-five years later. On the day when we all remember where we were when it happened.
But there wasn’t a restaurant in sight. We couldn’t be bothered to keep looking. Past the railway station and straight into McDonald’s.
For the first time since we arrived in Scotland.
Maybe it had been meant to happen all along, ever since I spotted that McDonald’s in Fort William that morning.
Along the River Clyde
When we stepped back outside after lunch, something very familiar from Edinburgh was waiting for us.
The wind.
It was blowing pretty much constantly. Glasgow is close to the sea too, of course, except this time we were on the other side of Scotland.
Since we were already here, we decided to take a look at the river that helped shape Glasgow into one of the world’s great shipbuilding cities.
Clyde.
Its banks were once lined with shipyards, while the river connected Glasgow to the sea and the wider world.
And since we were already standing on the bridge, we might as well cross it.
The first thing you notice is the smell of weed. Fair enough, that was nothing new. We’d already come across that in Washington, New York, London, Tenerife and probably a few other places too.
What bothered us more was the state of the surroundings. Some buildings had broken windows, others were covered in graffiti, and the whole area looked rather neglected.
Right, best to get back across the river as quickly as possible.
We definitely wouldn’t be coming back this way.
Buchanan Street and Wellington with His Cone
From run-down to refined as you make your way towards the heart of Glasgow.
Almost every major city has its main promenade. La Rambla in Barcelona, Rua de Santa Catarina in Porto, Via del Corso in Rome. In Glasgow, that role belongs to Buchanan Street.
The broad pedestrian street is full of people, shops and street musicians. Imposing stone façades line both sides, with luxury hotels and shopping arcades among them.
Future Ed Sheerans are trying their luck on the street, but above all, the atmosphere here feels a lot more pleasant than it did just a few minutes ago.
I can’t remember exactly where we turned, but somewhere along the way we came across one of Glasgow’s more recognisable symbols.
The Duke of Wellington. On horseback.
The man defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, but that’s not what makes him famous in Glasgow. These days, he’s best known for the traffic cone that usually sits on his head.
Locals started putting cones on the statue back in the 1980s. The city authorities kept removing them, only for new ones to appear. Eventually, they gave up, and the cone became part of Wellington, and part of Glasgow.
When we were there, though, apparently Wellington alone wasn’t enough.
His horse had a cone too.
I can’t imagine something like this playing out quite the same way back home in Slovenia.
I don’t think it would.
That probably says something about the people here.
Why Do They Actually Drive on the Left?
The day was slowly turning into evening, the wind was still blowing hard, and all the travelling had finally started to catch up with us. We didn’t feel like walking any more.
Uber.
I sat in the front passenger seat. On the right-hand side.
And there it was again. Cars coming from the wrong direction, turns being made onto the wrong side of the road, and even after all those days in Scotland, I still hadn’t got used to them driving on the left.
Why do they drive on the left anyway?
That evening, I couldn’t quite let it go, so I did a little digging.
And it turned out that we’re actually the strange ones.
Well, historically speaking, at least.
One of the most common explanations goes back to the days of horses, riders and swords. Since most people were right-handed, they kept to the left side of the road. That way, their right hand faced whoever was approaching from the opposite direction. If that person’s intentions weren’t exactly friendly, your hand was right where you needed it.
On your sword.
Later, perhaps on your pistol.
Later, perhaps on your pistol.
Today? I don’t know. Apparently, giving someone the middle finger isn’t considered very polite anymore.
The British later made driving on the left the law and spread the practice around the world through their empire. That’s why people still drive on the left today in Australia, New Zealand, India and many other countries. In Europe, apart from the United Kingdom, you’ll find the same rule in Ireland, Malta and Cyprus.
Now we know.
Time for bed, and to look forward to our final day in Scotland.
We woke to the sound of seagulls loudly arguing on the rooftop next door, seemingly unaware that anyone might still be asleep.
Then again, who could really blame them?
A day in and around Fort William was waiting for us. Our first stop was Neptune's Staircase, where we wanted to watch boats make their way through the impressive series of canal locks. Later, we would head to the Glenfinnan Viaduct, known around the world as part of the route to Hogwarts in the Harry Potter films.
But before all of that, breakfast with a view of the loch.
Fort William itself does not have a great deal to offer. While planning this trip, I actually wondered whether I had made a mistake by booking three nights here. But a few days later, as we boarded the train to Glasgow, we knew we had made the right choice.
The real reason to stay in this part of the Scottish Highlands lies not in the town itself, but in everything that surrounds it.
When the Bus Timetable Becomes a Puzzle
Of course, you can't resist taking a walk through the upper part of town when Loch Linnhe stretches out below, surrounded by the ever-changing colours of the landscape.
Down on the street, I turned my attention to the local bus timetable. Had it been written in Chinese instead of English, the outcome would probably have been exactly the same.
It all felt a little too complicated for that early in the morning, so we decided to take a taxi instead.
Our first stop was Banavie, a small village just a few kilometres from Fort William. At first glance, there is not much to it, but it sits at a fascinating meeting point of water, rail, and mountains. The Caledonian Canal passes through the village, the West Highland Line runs alongside it, and in the background rises Ben Nevis, the United Kingdom's highest mountain at 1,345 metres.
But we had come here for one reason in particular.
Neptune's Staircase
The taxi dropped us off in a car park beside an old stone building. In front of us lay Neptune's Staircase, the most impressive series of locks on the Caledonian Canal.
The way it works is actually quite simple. A boat enters the first lock and the gates behind it close. The water level is then either raised or lowered until it matches the level of the next section of the canal. Once the two levels are equal, the next gates open and the boat continues its journey.
The process is repeated through all eight locks, allowing boats to overcome a height difference of around 20 metres. Built more than two hundred years ago, the lock system forms part of the Caledonian Canal, which links Scotland's east and west coasts through the natural chain of lochs in the Great Glen. It spared ships the long and often hazardous voyage around the country's northern coast.
Today, the canal is used mainly by recreational boats, many of them sailing yachts. A transit through the entire canal costs from around €400, depending on the size of the vessel.
When the Bridge Started to Move
I positioned myself in the middle of the bridge, hoping to capture as many of the locks as possible in a single photograph.
It wasn't long before the water beneath me began to churn, and it quickly became obvious that it was time to step off the bridge. A sailing yacht had just completed its descent through the final lock. As the gates opened, the bridge where I had been standing only moments earlier swung aside towards the bank, allowing the yacht to continue its journey.
Luckily for us, three sailing yachts were already waiting on the other side, ready to begin their climb up Neptune's Staircase.
Passing through the entire lock system takes about an hour and a half, giving us plenty of time to watch the boats slowly "climb" their way uphill.
Further up Neptune's Staircase, the trees begin to thin out, revealing a view that is well worth pausing for. From one spot, you can take in the two-hundred-year-old locks, the boats slowly making their way through the canal, and Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the United Kingdom, where patches of snow were still visible even in late April.
It would have been hard to find a better setting for a second morning coffee. We settled into the nearby café and simply watched the scene unfold below us.
By Rail to Hogwarts
At Number 4 Privet Drive lived an eleven-year-old boy named Harry. He grew up with his aunt and her family, never quite feeling that he belonged. Then, one day, a letter arrived. It was an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
At Platform 9¾, he boarded a train, and a whole new chapter of his life began. During the journey, he met Ron and Hermione, while the landscapes outside the windows became some of the most memorable scenes in the Harry Potter films. Among them is the Glenfinnan Viaduct, crossed by the Hogwarts Express.
For our family, that story means a little more than it might for many others. Nara, in particular, has become a true Harry Potter fan and had already read all seven books by the fourth grade.
And wherever we travel, we somehow always seem to come across something that connects us with Harry's world.
In London, we tried to make our way through the wall to Platform 9¾ at King's Cross Station and visited the Warner Bros. Studio Tour, where we stepped straight into the sets, costumes, and props from the films.
In Portugal, we visited the famous bookshop in Porto, where the author once lived, with its staircase said to have inspired the one at Hogwarts. In Coimbra, we watched students walking through the university in their traditional black academic robes, strikingly similar to those seen in the films.
In Edinburgh, we wandered along Victoria Street, often associated with Diagon Alley, and visited the cemetery where the grave of Tom Riddle, believed to have inspired the name of the series' main villain, can be found.
Now, here in the heart of the Scottish Highlands, the grand finale was waiting for us.
We stood on the platform at Banavie Station, ready to travel along the very railway that the film world turned into the route to Hogwarts.
The Train That Existed, But Wasn't Running
While planning our trip to Scotland, I wanted to surprise Nara by booking tickets for the Jacobite, the famous vintage steam train that crosses the Glenfinnan Viaduct and closely resembles the Hogwarts Express from the films.
But after checking last season's ticket prices, my enthusiasm quickly faded. For a family, the journey was anything but cheap, while regular train tickets along the very same railway line cost more than ten times less.
So we changed our plans. We would take a regular train to Glenfinnan, then wait by the viaduct to watch the steam train pass overhead.
Except there was one problem. During our visit, the Jacobite wasn't running at all. The reason was explained to us that morning by the taxi driver who had taken us to Neptune's Staircase.
According to him, the train was owned by a wealthy Scot who saw it mainly as a passion project. The authorities had reportedly insisted that the historic carriages be upgraded to meet modern safety standards, but he didn't want to alter their original character.
"Then you won't be running the train," they supposedly told him.
"Then I won't," he supposedly replied.
Like many good stories, the taxi driver's version included a little storytelling, but the essence was true. The start of the season had indeed been delayed while the historic coaches were being modified to meet modern door-locking safety requirements.
As I write this two months later, I checked how the story ended. The Jacobite is running again, and the ticket prices have now been published.
It is also worth booking tickets for the regular train in advance, mainly to secure seat reservations. I bought ours through the ScotRail app, although you can also purchase them at the station a day or two before your journey.
When the train arrived, I couldn't work out which carriage our reserved seats were in, so we simply boarded the first one we came to.
Completely full.
Then, halfway down the carriage, we spotted four empty seats.
What luck.
They were ours.
Britain's Most Famous Viaduct
The journey to Glenfinnan Station takes about half an hour. The train follows the shores of Loch Linnhe, with Ben Nevis rising in the distance, while along the coastline you might spot a sheep, a stranded sailing yacht, or sometimes both at once.
When booking your tickets, it is worth reserving seats on the left-hand side of the train, as that's where you'll find the best views throughout the journey.
Before long, the loch disappears behind you, and the hills begin to dominate the landscape. We were talking about Harry Potter when the train slipped through a narrow rock cutting.
Then, music began to play through the speakers.
And suddenly, the Glenfinnan Viaduct unfolded before us in all its glory.
I know it sounds a little silly. But after all the anticipation, the journey, the music, and that moment when the viaduct suddenly appears from behind the rocks, the child in you quietly whispers:
"Wow... I'm on my way to Hogwarts."
A few moments later, once the train has crossed the viaduct, you're an adult again, already wondering where the train will stop, how far you'll have to walk, and whether you packed enough water.
From childhood imagination straight back to grown-up practicality.
In the Middle of Nowhere... Almost
Glenfinnan Station is small and feels as though it stands in the middle of nowhere. There is no real village around it, just the occasional solitary house scattered across the landscape.
The walk to the viaduct takes about twenty minutes. From the station, the path gently descends into the valley, with beautiful views of the surrounding hills opening up along the way.
About halfway there, we came across a charming little church surrounded by a meadow full of wildflowers. The view beyond it was even more beautiful.
When you reach the bottom of the valley, a tall stone tower beside the loch comes into view on your right. It is the Glenfinnan Monument
Although Glenfinnan is best known today because of Harry Potter, this place was already part of Scottish history long before the films. It was here that Bonnie Prince Charlie gathered his supporters, marking the beginning of the Jacobite Rising of 1745.
It was the year 1745, and this was the final great attempt to restore the House of Stuart, the former royal dynasty of Scotland and England, to the British throne.
It was not to be.
On the other side of the road, however, an entirely different story begins. There you'll find the car park and the start of the path leading to the Glenfinnan Viaduct.
Here, a single road separates the struggle for the British crown from the battle against the Dark Lord.
Beneath the Arches of Glenfinnan
There were still about 500 metres to walk across the meadow before we reached the viaduct. Quite a few visitors were already there, most of them tourists from across Asia.
If you're planning to hike up to the viewpoint, it's worth wearing proper footwear. The path crosses a grazing field, so it's a good idea to watch where you step. The higher you climb, the muddier the trail becomes, with plenty of loose rocks underfoot.
At the top, we sat down and waited to see if a train would cross the viaduct.
None came.
Still, watching the historic steam train glide across the viaduct, leaving a trail of steam behind it, must be something truly special. But you can't always have everything.
Nara was happy, and the rest of us were just as pleased with how the day had turned out.
One last walk beneath the viaduct's arches, and then it was time to head back uphill to the station.
As we were in the middle of nowhere, there weren't many options for lunch. In fact, there was only one: an old railway carriage beside the station that had been converted into a small café.
After lunch, we mailed our traditional postcards, something we do on every trip. One was for my parents back home in Slovenia, the other for a friend in Denver, Colorado, with whom I had travelled across Argentina all the way to Ushuaia, the world's southernmost city, many years ago.
The postcard to Slovenia took a full month to arrive.
The very same train that had brought us to Glenfinnan later carried us back to Fort William. This time, finding our seats was much easier.
On the walk back to our accommodation, we noticed boat trips on the loch advertising the chance to spot seals.
The plan for the following day suddenly became very clear.
Edinburgh is a fairytale, someone wrote under one of my posts when I started sharing the first photos during the trip.
And they were absolutely right.
But let’s start at the beginning.
Scotland had been sitting on our travel wish list for a long time. Close enough that we kept talking about it, yet somehow always far enough away to become a maybe someday destination.
Then one autumn day, Anja said, in that tone I know very well by now, that EasyJet had opened a direct route to Edinburgh.
At that moment, the decision was pretty much made.
The next day, the flights were already booked.
We would figure out later how many days we would spend in each place, how we would reach the Highlands, and whether traveling across Scotland without a car was even possible.
The important thing was that we had the flights booked.
The Right Time for Scotland
Because we travel independently as a family, we usually plan bigger trips well in advance. Mostly because of accommodations. If you wait too long, the reasonable prices on Booking disappear fast.
Every minute spent standing in an unnecessary line during a trip is wasted time. And most of the time, it can be avoided with good planning. We’ve proven that to ourselves more than once.
When we booked the flights to Scotland in the fall, we already had Portugal planned for the autumn school holidays, Barcelona for New Year’s, and Rome for the winter break. Scotland therefore had to wait until the May holidays.
And as it later turned out, we could hardly have picked a better time.
Still, putting together the logistics for the whole trip took quite a bit of planning. Edinburgh, Inverness, Drumnadrochit, Fort William, and Glasgow. All by train and bus, without a car.
On paper, it all seemed fairly simple.
We hoped it would work just as smoothly in real life.
Before We Even Took Off
Since Brexit, the United Kingdom is no longer part of the European Union, which means you now need an ETA approval to enter the country.
It’s an electronic travel authorization that you apply for online and link to your passport number. It costs around £20 and is required for every traveler, regardless of age.
A passport is now essential for the UK anyway. An ID card alone will not get you very far.
The next important thing was accommodations. We booked all four stops of our trip through Booking.com. Even though April is still considered the beginning of the season, many places in the Highlands were already heavily booked four months in advance, so in the end, we took what was still available.
Because we knew we would be traveling entirely by public transport, I started looking into trains and buses fairly early. Tickets are much cheaper if you buy them in advance, and more importantly, you can secure your seats.
We also bought a Family & Friends Railcard, which gives you an additional discount and makes ticket prices much more manageable.
Before the trip, Anja also withdrew some British pounds in cash, because you never know when a card terminal might stop working.
And then there are the British adapters. If you already have them at home, great. If not, you can buy them almost everywhere, and many accommodations have them available as well. You just have to ask.
Across the North Sea
One thing that pleasantly surprised me about EasyJet was that you can check in almost a month in advance, including for the return flight.
Just like with Ryanair when we flew to Rome, there was a constant push to buy seats, although it felt a little less aggressive this time.
Still, convinced that minor children must be seated next to at least one parent, I simply ignored all the prompts.
For both flights, we ended up with seats in the same row anyway, in a 3 + 1 arrangement.
Perfect. Another small travel expense saved.
Since you are flying outside the European Union, departures at Ljubljana Airport go through Gate B. In April, the new EES digital border system had also just started operating, so passengers were advised to arrive a bit earlier than usual.
In reality, there were no major crowds. The flight to Belgrade had just departed, and there were no other non-EU flights around that time.
Then came the traditional family photo in front of the plane, something we always do before boarding.
Photo number 33.
The departure time was ideal. A little after eleven in the morning. Early enough that almost the entire afternoon in Scotland was still waiting for us.
The plane was full, mostly with returning Scots, with the occasional Slovenian family here and there.
Somewhere above the Netherlands, you slowly leave continental Europe behind.
Below you catch your first glimpse of the North Sea and the vast wind farms that, from above, almost look unreal. Every now and then, you can even spot an offshore oil platform.
I don’t know why, but that was the moment I first felt like we were truly heading far north.
Less than two and a half hours later, we were already landing at Edinburgh Airport. It is not overly large, which makes it easy to navigate.
There was a bit of a line at border control, but nothing overly complicated.
Now we just had to find our way into the city.
First Impressions
Once you step out of the airport, you simply follow the signs for the tram, and within a few minutes you are already buying tickets from the machine. Everything feels straightforward and easy to understand.
The ride into central Edinburgh takes about half an hour, passing through open grassy landscapes with barely any trees and the occasional hill in the distance. At times, it feels more like traveling through the countryside than approaching one of the most famous cities in the United Kingdom.
Your first real encounter with the city comes when the tram passes a massive stadium. At first, I was convinced it was a football stadium, but later I found out it was Murrayfield, the largest rugby stadium in Scotland.
Rugby here is obviously much more than just another sport.
In the suburbs, the endless rows of terraced houses immediately catch your eye. One after another. One street after another.
Well, I guess they are not called terraced houses for nothing.
After a gentle climb, the tram made one final right turn, and we had arrived.
The moment you step outside, you feel the wind that seems to define this city.
And there, at Haymarket Station in the middle of Edinburgh, our Scottish adventure truly began.
The first thing we did was find our accommodation. Where else but inside another terraced house.
Edinburgh
So where had we actually arrived?
Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland, has a population of around half a million people, while nearly one fifth of all Scots live in the greater metropolitan area.
Scotland is not an independent country but part of the United Kingdom. Even so, it has its own parliament, legal system, culture, and above all, a very strong sense of national identity.
And Edinburgh reflects that almost everywhere you look.
Much of the city has still preserved its old character of stone houses, narrow streets, and Gothic churches. There are no skyscrapers here, which means Edinburgh Castle still completely dominates the skyline.
And what a castle it is.
If there is such a thing as the definition of a real castle, this is probably it. Standing high above the city on top of an ancient volcanic rock, it almost feels unreal.
Thanks to our Nara, we have been faithfully following Harry Potter ever since London, then through Paris and Porto, all the way here to the city of J. K. Rowling, where she drew inspiration for many character names, streets, and the atmosphere of the world that millions of people know today.
There is one more thing worth mentioning.
It is rare to meet so many relaxed and friendly people so quickly after arriving in a new city. Everywhere we went, people were smiling and kind.
And another stereotype disappeared almost immediately. Their English was far easier to understand than we had expected, so communicating everywhere turned out to be surprisingly easy.
Haymarket
In Rome, where we stayed just ten minutes from the Colosseum, we did not last very long inside the apartment after arriving.
The same thing happened here.
Only this time it felt different. Mostly because, unlike Rome, we did not really know what to expect from the city. And somehow, that made the anticipation even stronger.
Well, if I am being honest, hunger also pushed us out of the apartment pretty quickly.
The neighborhood where we stayed is called Haymarket. Once a marketplace for hay and horses, today it is a mix of hotels, pubs, shops, restaurants, and the city’s characteristic stone houses.
At the same time, it is also one of Edinburgh’s main transport hubs. That was exactly why I chose our accommodation there. Just a few days later, we would already be heading farther north, so having the railway station practically outside the front door felt like a good idea.
But at that moment, all of that still seemed far away.
Right then, Edinburgh was waiting for us.
The Tallest Building in the City
We began our afternoon walk passing all those terraced houses that, little by little, were starting to grow on me.
Once you finally reach the end of the street, a massive Gothic cathedral suddenly opens up around the corner. St Mary’s Cathedral, with its three towers, immediately dominates the view.
In a city that resists skyscrapers so stubbornly, it remains the tallest building in Edinburgh even today, standing at just under 300 feet tall. The height itself is not particularly extraordinary, but after all those repeating two-story houses, it feels enormous.
At sunset, the silhouette of those towers must look incredible.
But we still had to keep moving.
We wanted to catch the sunset somewhere else.
Countryside in the Middle of the City
Dean Village was one of those places that truly made that afternoon special. You do not really expect that, in the middle of all that stone and just a few minutes from the city center, you suddenly arrive in an area with a quiet river, very few tourists, and greenery everywhere around you.
You walk across narrow bridges while the path constantly dips down and rises again, and between the houses, it almost feels as if you have wandered into a small countryside village somewhere far from the city.
Back in the day, the river was lined with mills that supplied Edinburgh with flour and food for centuries. Today, the noise of the mills and the bustle of workers have been replaced by little more than a handful of tourists who happen to wander through.
Besides the scenery itself, I especially liked those round stone towers attached to some of the houses. That is definitely not something you see back home.
That was the moment it became clear where J. K. Rowling found the inspiration for Hogwarts.
A Castle on a Volcano
The path slowly leads uphill, past streets where the view suddenly opens once again toward the tallest building in the city, this time with those three towers standing out even more dramatically.
From there, it is only a short walk past the Johnnie Walker store to Princes Street, probably the most famous street in Edinburgh, filled with shops, hotels, and people.
Once you cross it, another one of the city’s many Gothic churches rises in front of you. But this one stands out, because behind it waits something far more spectacular.
You walk past the dark stone walls of the church, and then suddenly, you see it.
Edinburgh Castle.
Bathed in the light of the setting sun, towering high above the city on a volcanic rock nearly 350 million years old.
Instinctively, you stop.
And simply stare.
Below the castle lies a vast park without a single building, although it had already closed by the time we arrived. So instead, we walked along its edge while the view of the castle kept opening up above us the entire way.
The real highlight comes at the very end, when you manage to capture the setting sun, the castle, and the old buildings of the Royal Mile all in a single frame.
Throughout the entire walk, we were followed by that unmistakable Edinburgh wind. The moment the sun disappeared, the temperature suddenly dropped with it.
By then, the fatigue of the whole day was slowly catching up with us as well, so we simply hopped on the tram and returned to our terraced house.
Tomorrow, a viewpoint from the top of the building directly across from the castle awaits us, along with our first real Harry Potter hunt through Edinburgh.
After yesterday’s long and demanding day — walking through the mighty Colosseum, running from the rain, climbing the Palatine Hill, and then descending into the Roman Forum and the Imperial Forums — this morning felt far too early in every possible way.
Still a little sleepy, we somehow managed to get ourselves up, had breakfast, and a moment later were already trying to catch a taxi in Monti. It was too early to start figuring out the buses, and the metro doesn’t even go there.
Ten minutes later we were already standing in a new line. This time in front of the Pantheon.
It’s best to buy the tickets online so you don’t have to deal with that in the morning — and with yet another queue. Adults €5, children free.
Just the sight of the massive façade with its enormous Corinthian columns quickly drives away the sleepiness you were still fighting in the taxi only a few minutes earlier.
As you search around the square for the best spot to photograph all those columns, you almost forget about the dome above them.
And yet the dome is actually the very essence of the Pantheon.
It is the largest unreinforced concrete dome in the world.
Which means there is nothing inside it — no mesh, no steel bars.
That is actually quite logical, since it was completed in AD 126. It stands purely because of its brilliant design, thick walls, and materials that become progressively lighter toward the top.
How remarkable this achievement was is shown by the fact that Europe forgot this knowledge and rediscovered it only about 1,300 years later in Florence, when the dome of the cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore was built.
And even that one, constructed more than a millennium later, is still smaller than the original here in Rome.
Successors of this dome can be seen in several places we have visited on other journeys — in London, when we watched St Paul’s Cathedral across the Thames; in Washington, when we walked through the rotunda of the United States Capitol; and later right here, when we admired the dome of St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.
Just as we were standing in line waiting to be let inside, the morning sun suddenly rose above the neighboring buildings and almost blinded us. When you stepped into the nearby shade, however, that same sun offered a beautiful view of the building and its columns.
After the doors opened, the Pantheon almost swallowed us whole.
Once inside, of course, the first thing you do is look up, where a huge opening awaits — the oculus. A nine-meter-wide link between earth and sky, between gods and mortals, it is also the only source of light once the doors are closed.
What if it rains? Well, then it rains.
The Romans solved that quite simply. The floor has a slight slope and hidden drainage channels that have been working for almost two thousand years.
When you stand there in the middle, you look around, then up, and then around again. The distances seem almost the same.
And they are. It is as wide as it is high. If you placed a perfect sphere inside, the dome would touch its top and the floor its bottom.
The fact that the space is circular naturally invites you to walk around it.
I didn’t know that Raphael, one of the greatest artists of the Renaissance, is buried here — usually mentioned in the same breath as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. Above his tomb is the inscription:
Here lies Raphael. Nature feared that he would surpass her while he lived, and when he died, she feared that she would die with him.
Now that’s confidence.
Today it is a church — more precisely the Basilica of St Mary and the Martyrs. That is why the earliest possible entry at nine o’clock on Sunday was perfect. An hour later the mass begins, and during that time you cannot buy tickets.
Just over half an hour later we were back outside on the square, which was steadily filling up.
Bernini’s Elephant and Santa Maria sopra Minerva
Not far away, hidden among the streets and houses, lies a small square where an elephant carrying an Egyptian obelisk on its back stands at the center.
The monument was designed by Bernini, the most important artist of the 17th century. What Michelangelo was to the Renaissance, Bernini was to the Baroque. In fact, he shaped a large part of the Rome we see today.
One of those images is this very elephant, which symbolizes wisdom and strength, while the obelisk represents ancient knowledge.
The idea is simple: wisdom must be strong enough to carry the weight of knowledge.
It feels both charming and a little unusual, and there is another curious story connected to it. Bernini is said to have had a dispute with one of the neighbors on this square, and he supposedly expressed his anger quietly by turning the elephant’s backside directly toward their entrance.
Behind it stands the church Santa Maria sopra Minerva.
It is actually the only major Gothic church in Rome. It is best known for its blue ceiling.
Except it was closed.
Just as we were about to continue wandering through the city, about ten limousines suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I don’t know whether they had come for a wedding, a baptism, or something similar, but clearly something was going on. The square beneath the elephant filled up in an instant.
I noticed that the church doors had meanwhile opened, so I quickly seized the opportunity. I peeked inside just long enough to catch a glimpse of that famous blue ceiling, but soon the limousine visitors chased me back out again.
Only later, when I looked at the photo, did I realize how large the church actually is — and that it really does have a blue ceiling. Why it is blue, I don’t know. Probably so that in all that enclosed vastness you still have at least a small feeling of blue sky above you.
It was time to move on again.
On the way to Piazza Navona, we tried in vain to find the entrance to Palazzo della Sapienza, where a church with an interesting spiral tower is said to stand in the inner courtyard.
After circling the building from three sides, we noticed a few souvenir shops nearby that were convincing enough for us to abandon the search for the entrance.
But this is also one of the curses of Rome for us tourists. Behind almost every street and almost every building there is another square, another ancient ruin, or yet another church. A curse in the sense that there is simply so much — so much that is interesting and beautiful — that there is never enough time to see it all.
Sometimes it is almost better when something is closed. Otherwise you would never get anywhere.
Piazza Navona
You step out of the shop onto the street, take a few steps, and just beyond the corner of the first building, one of the most beautiful squares in Italy opens up on your right in its full length.
In Roman times, this space was a stadium. Many people, myself included, probably assumed that horse races took place here, because the square has that distinctive elongated oval shape.
Although it always seemed a bit strange to me why there would be another racing arena so close to the Circus Maximus.
But that was not the case. No horses at all. This was the Stadium of Emperor Domitian, where sporting competitions were held, mainly running, jumping, and other athletic events. After the fall of the Roman Empire, the stadium slowly fell into ruin. Much of the stone was taken by local residents and reused for new buildings, but the shape of the space remained. Over time, the ancient stadium gradually transformed into a city square.
The square received its final appearance during the Baroque period, when the popes reshaped it with palaces, churches, and fountains. And here, once again, Bernini appears in the story.
In the middle of the square stands his famous fountain, the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi. It represents four great rivers of the known world at the time: the Danube, the Nile, the Ganges, and the Río de la Plata.
As we were walking toward it, someone was playing Mozart on the cymbals, which added even more to the pleasant atmosphere.
The fountain is surrounded by four statues of river gods. The girls and I tried to figure out which one represents which river. The easiest to recognize is the Nile, as the river god is covering his face. Why? Because at the time the fountain was built, the source of this longest river in the world was still unknown.
An interesting story is often told about the statue representing the Río de la Plata. Directly opposite the fountain stands the church of Sant’Agnese in Agone, designed by Bernini’s rival, Borromini. The statue, which appears somewhat frightened, raises its hand in front of its face as if afraid that the church might one day collapse on top of it.
In reality, the story has little to do with the facts, since the church was built later and Bernini could not have known what it would look like. Still, it remains a curious coincidence.
While the girls were enjoying the sunshine on the square, I stepped inside to take a quick look at the church.
Coffee time.
Not far from Piazza Navona is also Piazza Argentina, the place where Julius Caesar was assassinated. I’m not quite sure why I didn’t include it in our plan. Apparently, coffee felt more important at that moment.
So we headed back toward the Pantheon, where we were greeted by a wall of people. Those two lines in the morning, when we were standing there earlier, seemed almost funny in comparison. Crossing the square felt more like pushing our way through a sea of people.
Church of Sant’Ignazio di Loyola
Along Via del Seminario we walked to our next stop, a church that has become a real hit thanks to TikTok.
Right at the entrance you’re greeted by a long line. Not to get inside, but to take a selfie. We definitely wouldn’t stand in a queue for something like that, and the girls are still too young for the TikTok phase, so we simply walked past the line and went straight into the church.
So what’s the whole point?
The church has a stunning ceiling painting. If you stand in a very specific spot, the ceiling suddenly looks three-dimensional, as if the ceiling is opening up into the sky. At that exact place they’ve set up a large screen that works like a mirror, which is why people sometimes wait for hours just to take that selfie.
Is it worth standing in line for it? I’m not sure. Everyone has their own kind of fun. We just stepped about half a meter away from the screen, tilted our heads back a little, and it looked just as good.
A selfie with a 17th-century fresco was simply not on our list.
But there is another story here, about the dome.
They originally wanted to build one so the church would look even more impressive. But a problem appeared. Such a construction would have blocked the light and the view for the neighboring monastery. Naturally, the monks complained.
And that was the end of the plan. Instead, they came up with a clever solution: they simply painted the dome.
And it works. If you’re not paying close attention, it really looks like a real dome rising above you. In reality, it’s painted on a completely flat surface. A brilliant optical illusion.
When we stepped out of the church, the selfie line had already stretched deep into the street.
Looking at the massive façade of the church, I found myself scanning the square for a statue of an elephant, but there was none.
And if there had been one, we all know exactly where its backside would have been pointing.
Hadrian’s Temple
From here it’s just a few steps into the next street, and suddenly you find yourself standing in front of a former temple dedicated not to a god, but to Emperor Hadrian.
Today, mostly the columns remain. But even those are enough to immediately tell a tourist from a Roman.
The one standing still and looking up is a tourist. The one walking past as if those eleven fifteen-meter columns of Egyptian marble didn’t even exist is a Roman. Makes sense. He’s probably walked past them a million times.
For us amateurs, though, it was a completely different experience.
Trevi Fountain
The closer we got, the more crowded the streets became.
But just one street before you reach it, there’s a sign for Vicus Caprarius – which translates as Goat Street. And why would you turn in here?
Because this is where an archaeological site known as the City of Water is located. Down there, about five meters below the current street level, you can see the remains of Roman buildings, a water channel, and part of the aqueduct that still feeds the famous fountain nearby.
There was no line when we arrived, but the number of visitors is limited, so we had to wait for the next entry slot. Enough time to climb the nearby Quirinal Hill, where the Italian presidential palace stands today.
At the top there’s a large square, and from there we caught our first distant glimpse of the famous dome of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.
Then back to the City of Water.
The space is small, and the air isn’t particularly good. You see amphorae, a water channel, and a few other archaeological remains. Nothing that caused great excitement, but it does help you imagine a little better how Rome has been built layer upon layer over the centuries.
Let’s go back up to the surface.
We immediately found ourselves in the crowd. The street here is narrow, which only makes the feeling of congestion even stronger.
Slowly we managed to get a bit closer, but when you keep bumping into people and at the same time making sure the girls don’t get lost somewhere in the crowd, the view of the fountain somehow loses much of its charm.
So we turned into a nearby shop instead. Inside there were stairs leading up to what looked like the first floor. I thought maybe there would be a window up there with a better view of the fountain, and above all, a little more peace and quiet. The girls went their way, and I headed upstairs.
Apparently I wasn’t the first to have that idea. Many people had clearly thought of it before me. So many, in fact, that the windows had been half covered with tape.
But I wasn’t giving up.
Somewhere between women’s blouses and rows of jeans, I pushed my way through the clothing racks to the window, stood on my toes… and pressed my face against the glass.
We knew we were supposed to toss a coin as well, but with a crowd like that it simply wasn’t possible.
Maybe next time. And with that thought, we left the fountain behind.
Towards the Spanish Steps
The day was beautiful, so there was no need to rush anywhere. We decided to walk to Piazza di Spagna and lose ourselves a little in the streets along the way.
As you walk through Rome, you often notice manhole covers in the pavement marked with the letters S.P.Q.R.
Wait a minute. I had seen this somewhere before. Weren’t these the letters carried by Roman soldiers?
So I did a bit of digging. The abbreviation stands for Senatus Populusque Romanus – The Senate and the People of Rome – the official symbol of ancient Rome. It once appeared on the standards of the Roman legions and on public buildings across the empire.
Today, the city of Rome still uses it as its emblem, which is why you’ll spot it all over the place: on city crests, manhole covers, fountains, street lamps, and other public fixtures around town.
Every now and then the view opened up toward a beautiful fountain somewhere along the way. At one point we took a wrong turn and briefly climbed uphill, but eventually we found the right street, where an obelisk at the end leads you straight to the top of the Spanish Steps.
Spanish Steps
The obelisk was made in Rome, so in a way it’s a kind of Temu version of an Egyptian original. No, no, it’s actually quite beautiful. To the right of it stands the church that is, in fact, the reason the famous steps exist below.
In short: at the top of the hill stands the French church Trinità dei Monti, while at the bottom lies Piazza di Spagna, named after the Spanish embassy. The Spanish Steps between them were built in the 18th century. The project was led by Rome, the money came from a French diplomat, and the name remained Spanish. Rome is simply a city where different nations meet on the same staircase without much trouble.
One of the most famous scenes from the film Roman Holiday takes place right here on the Spanish Steps. Princess Ann, played by Audrey Hepburn, escapes royal protocol for a day, sits on the steps, and eats gelato. A journalist, played by Gregory Peck, notices her there. The year was 1953.
Today, sitting on the steps is no longer allowed. It was quite amusing to watch the tireless guards blowing their whistles and chasing away tourists who wanted, for a brief moment, to become Audrey Hepburn and sit down on those famous steps.
And if they catch you with a gelato, it’s even worse.
The fine: €250.
Piazza del Popolo
If you want to get from here to Piazza del Popolo, it’s easy. Just follow the next obelisk at the end of the street. This one, unlike the previous one, is the real thing. In fact, it’s one of the oldest objects in the city.
Around 3,500 years ago, it stood in a temple of the sun god in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis. During the reign of Emperor Augustus, it was brought to Rome and placed in the center of the Circus Maximus. After the fall of the Roman Empire, it was forgotten for a long time, until it was eventually restored and erected here on Piazza del Popolo, where it now serves as an impressive gateway for anyone entering Rome from the north.
When you turn back toward the Spanish Steps, three perfectly straight streets lead from here toward the city center. At the entrance of two of them stand twin churches. At first glance they look almost identical, and together they create a sense of perfect symmetry on the square.
After a full day of walking, we had had enough of Rome for today. Luckily, there was a metro station nearby, so we were soon back in our apartment in Monti.
Tomorrow we’re heading to Ostia Antica, once the main port of ancient Rome. When we return to the city later, we’re also thinking about visiting the Baths of Caracalla.
Morning confusion at Barcelona Sants railway station
Yesterday’s change of plans for the day ahead left us with a few open questions, so we got up early and headed to Barcelona Sants railway station, where our train was supposed to take us south.
Right from the start, we were met with a bit of confusion. The departure boards only show final destinations, which makes it hard to get your bearings quickly. Some trains stop at every station, others do not, and I wasn’t entirely sure which one we should take.
I first tried the ticket machines, but without much success. I simply didn’t know what to choose. We then went to the first ticket counter, only to find out that we were in the wrong place.
That counter is reserved for high-speed trains, the ones that run at up to 300 km/h and can get you to Madrid in about two and a half hours. I had no idea Spain even had trains like that.
They sent us to counters 1–4, where tickets for Rodalies are sold. These are regional commuter trains that run across Catalonia.
Children’s tickets turned out to be a story of their own. Even though the kids are 8 and 10 years old, we had to buy adult tickets for them. On Rodalies trains, there are no child discounts. Only children under the age of three travel for free.
All together, I paid €30 for the tickets, which felt rather steep for a local train.
The journey took about an hour. Although the route mostly follows the coast, you don’t actually see much of the sea. There are plenty of tunnels and embankments, so the ride itself isn’t particularly memorable. Still, just before our destination, palm trees finally came into view.
The station in Tarragona is small and feels almost homely, especially after the days we spent in the bustle of a big city.
Now that we were finally there, we took our time over a coffee and calmly worked out what we actually wanted to do.
Tarragona
Tarragona is a modern coastal city where ancient heritage blends into everyday life. It is an important regional centre of Catalonia, a university city, and one of the key industrial areas, mainly because of its strong chemical industry.
When you look out toward the sea, the many cargo ships on the horizon are a quick reminder of that.
From the railway station, the path leads uphill along a pedestrian walkway above the road, leaning against a massive city wall that is more than two thousand years old. After about ten minutes of walking, you reach the top, which is in fact a natural rocky terrace some fifty metres above the sea.
This area is known as the Mediterranean Balcony, and it’s a place where you can simply slow down and take in the view of the Mediterranean Sea.
Tarraco
In Roman times, Tarragona was known as Tarraco and ranked among the most important cities on the Iberian Peninsula, serving as the capital of a Roman province. Today, the city’s archaeological complex is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
You don’t have to go far from the balcony to encounter the next structure from the ancient world. Right at the edge of the cliff, the view opens downward onto the Roman amphitheatre, once used for gladiatorial games and fights between humans and animals.
The amphitheatre in Tarragona is one of the few Roman amphitheatres located by the sea. While it is nowhere near as well preserved as the one in Pula, it once held around 15,000 spectators and had a special feature: the arena opened directly toward the Mediterranean Sea.
The view from the balcony was more than enough for us, so instead of heading down, we continued toward the Praetorium, the former seat of Roman authority. The massive walls rising high above you are reason enough on their own to walk this far.
In Roman times, the Praetorium served as a vertical link between the upper city with its main forum, the middle level with the Roman circus and chariot races, and the lower parts of the city, where the amphitheatre once stood.
Tarraco was built in terraces, thoughtfully and systematically, and that is exactly what makes it special.
Cathedral Basilica of Saint Tecla
Once you’ve had your fill of these walls, the walk continues through narrow stone streets lined with small shops and cosy cafés, where we stopped for a well-earned snack and coffee. After leaving the café, only a few more steps awaited us, climbing a steep staircase that brings the street to an end. Tarragona Cathedral stands at the highest point of the old town, on the site of a former Roman sanctuary. After climbing those final steps, its imposing entrance façade opens up in front of you.
There were few people around, nothing compared to Barcelona. In some of the streets, we were completely alone.
It is precisely this moment, when you emerge almost alone from the narrow streets, slowly climb the steps, and suddenly find yourself standing in front of powerful architecture, that gives travel its meaning. It’s not so much about the landmark itself, but about the feeling. It’s about the path, the place, and how you take it all in together. And when you experience it with your family, even more so.
Castells
On one of the walls near the cathedral, a huge image was displayed, showing celebrations during the feast of Santa Tecla.
They depict castells, the Catalan human towers. It is a tradition more than two hundred years old, originating right here.
The towers are built slowly, layer by layer, with great concentration and complete trust between those involved. The strongest stand at the base, the lightest climb higher, and at the very top a child, usually between five and ten years old, climbs up and raises a hand to signal that the tower has been successfully completed.
Castells were originally meant as an expression of community, cooperation, and perseverance. Today, there are also competitive events, held every two years, right here in Tarragona.
Circus Tarraconensis
In Roman times, Tarragona was home to a large circus, as the horse-racing stadium was known. It could hold up to 30,000 spectators, which was remarkable for a city of that era.
Today, it can only be seen underground, in the preserved tunnels and vaults. Over the centuries, houses, palaces, and streets were built above the circus, leaving most of the structure hidden from view.
During our walk, we came across just one entrance to these tunnels. It was partially closed off with a metal fence and clearly not maintained. We couldn’t find an official entrance, so we gave up and continued through the narrow streets until we reached the long, wide Plaça de la Font.
Its unusual length and flatness quickly make you realise that this was once the straight section of the circus. An inscription on the square confirms it: you are standing directly above the former racing track of the Roman circus.
The Monaco of the Roman World
In Roman times, Tarraco was truly something special. The city combined power, influence, and prestige. It had an amphitheatre with gladiatorial games and views of the Mediterranean Sea, a large circus for chariot races, and a praetorium that served as the seat of Roman authority for the province.
This was not merely a provincial town, but a political and social centre of the Roman world on the Iberian Peninsula. In terms of its role and atmosphere, the closest modern comparison would be Monaco, a place where power, entertainment, and prestige come together, only on a Roman scale.
That Tarraco held a truly exceptional status is also confirmed by the fact that the first Roman emperor, Augustus Octavian, lived here for several years.
Where to next?
On our way downhill, we passed a church that immediately catches the eye with its colour. It is Sant Agustí, whose pink façade stands out among the massive stone buildings around it.
We stopped once more at the Balcón del Mediterráneo to say our goodbyes, then made our way back toward the railway station. Since it was still early afternoon, we felt like visiting one more town. We were choosing between Sitges and Vilanova i la Geltrú.
Sitges is known for its seaside promenade and a somewhat more upscale, touristy atmosphere, or so it was written… Vilanova was said to feel calmer, more local and authentic, with a strong fishing character and a beautiful old town, at least according to what we read online. So how do you choose?
In the end, we chose Vilanova, mainly because of a single photo of the town square that caught my eye. That photo didn’t quite live up to expectations later on, but that’s fine. The town surprised us with other things instead.
Before boarding the train, we also sent off the two postcards we mail on every trip. One goes to my parents, the other to a friend in Denver, Colorado. It has become our small travel tradition, as postcards are slowly turning into an endangered species.
I don’t know how it was possible, but the train took almost an hour, even though the distance was roughly half of what it was between Barcelona and Tarragona, a journey that took the same amount of time. Apparently, alongside high-speed trains, there is also a special category of very slow ones.
Vilanova i la Geltrú
We finally arrived at the station and set off toward the square from that photo. It lies somewhere in the middle of the town, and the streets leading to it are unbelievably long. One of them, Rambla Principal, stretches for almost a kilometre.
Walking along these streets is an experience in itself, especially when you’re used to streets ending much sooner. Although, now that I think about it, Santa Catarina in Porto was also quite long, but there it was packed with tourists. While there were still some visitors in Tarragona, here it felt almost completely empty.
The square from that photo is Plaça de la Vila, the town’s main square, distinguished by its wavy mosaic and rows of palm trees. It feels like a small island in the middle of all those long, straight streets.
The square was filled with New Year’s market stalls, so the mosaic didn’t fully come into its own. Still, we had a look around before continuing along the Rambla toward the beach.
If the streets here are impressive in length, it feels only right that the beach matches them. Before you even reach it, you walk through a park almost 500 metres long, and then the beach of Ribes Roges opens up in front of you.
It’s large, and in a rough way it reminded us of Nazaré in Portugal, where we had been walking just a few months earlier. Apart from a handful of passing walkers, the beach was empty, which felt like a welcome contrast to crowded Barcelona.
The day had been genuinely pleasant. We had seen a lot, walked a lot as well, and somewhere along the way you really start to unwind… right up until the moment we began looking for a suitable place for dinner.
Dinner in the bullring
The first option was fast food, the second a fish-only restaurant, the third far too upscale. That was it. We surrendered. Back on the train to Barcelona, we’d figure something out there.
In the end, we found it where we least expected it, at the top of Arenes. The former bullfighting arena has been transformed into a shopping center. There were several restaurants up there, we chose one, and everyone found something to enjoy: Anja went for salmon, the girls had chicken, and I opted for soup and a steak.
At the top, there is also an observation deck that opens up to a beautiful view of Plaça d’Espanya in the evening, the Venetian Towers, and Montjuïc. All’s well that ends well. The timing was just right to catch one more landmark in this part of the city.
Font Màgica de Montjuïc
As we walked toward the fountain, I couldn’t resist taking a photo from almost the same spot as on New Year’s Eve. It’s hard to believe how many people were there back then.
The Magic Fountain of Montjuïc stands between Plaça d’Espanya and the Palau Nacional, in front of those four towers. It was built in 1929 for the World’s Fair and is considered one of the larger fountains of its kind in Europe.
At exactly 8:00 p.m., the water show began, with a combination of water, light, and music that draws crowds of curious visitors every evening for a free performance.
This time, we stood a little farther away, across the road, as the area around the fountain was completely packed. But in truth, we didn’t miss out on anything. Sometimes the view from a distance is even more beautiful, when you can take in those ten-metre-high water jets in their entirety. When the water dances to the rhythm of classical symphonies, it’s something that stays with you.
As we walked back to the hotel, I found myself thinking about what a perfect ending to the day it had been.
Tomorrow, our final day awaits. Park de la Ciutadella, the iconic Arc de Triomf, the Catalan Parliament, and perhaps even a visit to the zoo.
Yesterday afternoon, when we returned from wandering around the city, small bags of grapes were waiting for us in our room. We had no idea what they were for, so we left them behind when we headed to Plaça d’Espanya for the New Year’s celebration.
We waited for the clock to strike midnight and for the fireworks to begin.
That’s when we noticed that many people in the square were holding grapes. The final wave of drones faded out, rockets shot into the sky, and the clock struck midnight. With each chime that followed, the people around us ate one grape. It’s called las doce uvas de la suerte, a New Year’s tradition in which you eat twelve grapes at midnight, one for each month of good luck.
After the fireworks, the crowd dispersed calmly and in an orderly way. We didn’t hear any firecrackers, the shops were still open, and there were no incidents throughout the evening, even though more than 115,000 people had gathered.
A unanimous decision: the beach
The girls woke up surprisingly early, even though we didn’t return from the area around Plaça d’Espanya until around 1:30 a.m. We had no plans for the day. We had deliberately left it open back home, with no schedules and no obligations. We would simply do whatever felt right. And what felt right was the beach.
Through the Gothic Quarter to the sea
We started at Plaça de Catalunya and made our way down to La Rambla, which was already filling up. Before long, we turned into the side streets, Carrer de Ferran and Carrer d’Avinyó. The latter was almost empty, just a short hundred meters from Barcelona’s main pedestrian avenue.
One more thing we noticed right away when we stepped out of the taxi: everything was spotless. There was no trace of the previous day’s celebrations anywhere, as if it were just an ordinary Thursday.
No matter how you make your way from Plaça de Catalunya toward the waterfront, whether along La Rambla or through the side streets of the Gothic Quarter, you eventually end up on Passeig de Colom, that long, palm-lined avenue by the sea.
You cross it, take in the palm trees, reach the other side, and suddenly see people strolling beneath them in short sleeves. Yes, this too is Barcelona on the first of January. The thermometer read 15 degrees Celsius.
El Cap de Barcelona
Somewhere near this pop-art sculpture, installed in 1992 for the Olympic Games, you start to notice the change. You leave behind the narrow streets lined with tall buildings and an old-world feel, and as you move closer to the sea, everything opens up. The sculpture is covered in colorful ceramic tiles, though it can’t quite compare to the ones we saw on our last trip to Portugal.
We continue past the marina, which is filled with yachts.
Along the waterfront, the restaurants are busy. Most people are drinking coffee, some are having a late breakfast, while others clearly haven’t quite finished celebrating the night before and are continuing with Aperol spritzes.
Invisible parrots
We follow a stream of people who have the same idea for spending the first day of the new year at the beach. We spot a large Christmas tree, but your eyes slide past it, distracted by the backdrop of palm trees. If you’re from somewhere like the Gorenjska region, the mountainous part of Slovenia, your brain simply can’t immediately process the coexistence of a decorated Christmas tree and palm trees in the same scene.
As you walk beneath these palms, you constantly hear a kind of shrill bird noise. You’re by the sea, so naturally your first thought is seagulls. But when you look around, there are none to be seen. A white seagull on a green palm tree would be impossible to miss. Clearly, they aren’t seagulls. The chaotic screeching, which sounds like a never-ending argument, continues.
Anja had read that Barcelona is full of parrots, which you rarely see because they hide high up in the palm trees. They’re monk parakeets, which were a popular choice as pets in the last century. Many escaped, and others were simply released.
These days there are so many of them that their screeching has become part of the city’s everyday soundscape, like an upgraded version of cicadas by the sea. At first you notice them, then you tune them out. Seeing them is another story altogether.
Over the course of the entire week, we saw them only twice: once at the viewpoint above Park Güell, and once on the very last day, right in the city center, all gathered in a single tree.
Barceloneta Beach
After all the screeching in the palm trees, you soon catch sight of the beach. Shaped like an elongated triangle, Barceloneta stretches for just over a kilometer and is several hundred meters wide. Much of its modern layout is thanks to the 1992 Olympic Games.
Time and again, as we travel, we realize how much events like world expos in the early twentieth century or the Olympic Games have contributed to the look and feel of cities. Barcelona was lucky enough to host both.
The beach was busy, and considering its size, the scene was surprisingly pleasant. Some people were sitting on benches along the edge, others had found a spot on the sand, and the bravest of all decided to test the temperature of the Mediterranean Sea.
The girls ran from the waves so they wouldn’t get soaked, and were very obviously having a great time.
As you watch this beach, it feels like something is missing, and it’s precisely that absence that makes it so appealing. It feels more like part of a neighborhood and less like a tourist attraction, even though it’s crowded.
There are no hotels.
You only see the iconic sail-shaped one, known as the W, but it doesn’t feel intrusive since it sits right at the edge. Someone clearly gave real thought to the urban planning here, and that’s what makes this place feel different, better, and more beautiful.
The Aquarium
If you’re already in this part of the city, a visit to the aquarium is almost a given. With its main tank holding nearly four million liters of water, it’s one of the area’s main attractions. You start with the standard tanks filled with smaller fish, lobsters, sea stars, and whatever else you might find along the way. The aquarium is home to more than 11,000 animals.
The highlight of the visit is without a doubt the moving walkway through the underwater tunnels, with three-meter-long sharks, rays, and schools of fish gliding above you.
At the end, you can walk through a giant whale, there’s a play area for kids, and you can even feed the fish.
They’re Slovenians
On the interactive screens, you can choose a fish, color it however you like, and give it a name. There were several of these screens, and kids were creating their own fish at every one of them. Including our two.
Once they were done, they sent their fish off, and it appeared on a large screen on the wall. First, a small fish in yellow and blue shades swam across, named Nia. Then another one followed, pink and red, named Nara. At the screen next to ours, a boy had just finished his fish and sent it along as well. When it appeared, it was gray, completely colorless, with the name Jebo Jebic floating above it. *The fish appeared with a deliberately vulgar Balkan joke name, instantly understood as inappropriate by anyone from the region.
I immediately started laughing uncontrollably. Then, from behind us, we heard a mother’s horrified voice:
“Are you out of your mind? These are Slovenians, they understand you!”
Big Fun Museum
When we first walked along La Rambla, we noticed this museum and promised ourselves we’d come back one day when we had more time. Today, we had plenty of it. It turned out to be a museum of illusions, unusual art installations, clever visual effects, and playful backdrops for photos. The girls loved it, and so did we. We laughed a lot, making it a perfect way to start the new year.
A change of plans for tomorrow
Tomorrow, we were supposed to take the train to Montserrat, the famous mountain sanctuary with its Benedictine monastery, and then stop at the Colònia Güell crypt on the way back, where Gaudí experimented with his ideas.
The girls weren’t particularly excited about that plan, so I picked up my phone, and after half an hour we decided to go to Tarragona instead.
It’s a city known for its exceptionally well-preserved Roman buildings, which also fits nicely with our next trip in February, when we’ll be heading to Rome.
So tomorrow, a mini trip within the trip awaits us.
Rain. That’s how we stepped into the day. Lately, we haven’t had much luck with the weather on our trips, not like before. Even in London we only got properly soaked once. In Portugal, we almost swam through the streets of Lisbon.
Anja says her throat hurts, but that she’ll be fine. Between my sore eye and Nara’s cold, we were starting to feel more suited for bed than for exploring the city. Luckily, we still had our Nia, our eight-year-old swimmer, the only one healthy as a horse.
Montjuïc
The morning was devoted to exploring the Jewish Mountain, which is what Montjuïc means in Catalan, since Jews had their cemetery on its slopes in the Middle Ages.
Geographically, the hill rises almost 200 meters between the sea and the city, and for centuries it has served as an important lookout and defensive point.
The 17th-century fortress on the summit confirms that role, even though its history is also a dark one.
Defensive structures often turn into tools of repression in the hands of authorities hungry for control. During Franco’s dictatorship, it served as a prison, a torture site, and a place of executions. That’s why many Catalans today see this very fortress as a symbol of repression and, at the same time, a symbol of resistance against it.
Palau Nacional
An imposing palace crowns the hill, built for the 1929 World’s Fair, where the world was meant to see technological progress, art, and above all what humans are capable of building.
That very exhibition gave this part of the city its present form.
It’s interesting how, through our travels, we keep noticing the role these fairs, essentially the predecessors of today’s Expos, played in making cities world-famous.
From the Eiffel Tower in Paris, to Plaza de España in Seville, all the way to Lisbon, where the Expo created an entirely new district along the Tagus River.
Inside the palace is the National Museum of Catalan Art (MNAC), which houses one of the richest collections of Romanesque frescoes in the world.
We didn’t plan to go inside, since I doubted it would be especially interesting for the girls. The idea was to go up to the viewing terrace, right to the spot where Anja and I had been 13 years ago.
To wrap up this hill.
It was put back at the center of the world during the 1992 Olympic Games, and today it holds the city’s largest green spaces, botanical gardens, museums, and walking paths. From the other side of the city, from the harbor, you can take a cable car up to the top.
But that’s not for us. Once we’re on the ground, we are very deliberately ground-level tourists, even though we do most of our traveling by plane. Now make sense of that if you can.
Poble Espanyol and the Christmas Streets
We weren’t in a hurry in the morning, since our first entry wasn’t until 10 a.m. Near the hotel, 110 steps were waiting for us, taking us up to the first level of the hill. That’s when we saw it for the first time. The Sagrada Família. All you can really say is wow. A proper reward for all those steps we had just climbed.
Just a short walk away is the entrance to the Spanish Village, Poble Espanyol. It’s another product of the World’s Fair, created to show visitors the typical streets, squares, houses, and architecture of different regions of Spain. During the holiday season, the village transforms into its Natalis version, with decorations everywhere, gifts, lights, music, and creative workshops.
And that was exactly where we were headed. We were among the first inside, so we could wander the streets almost on our own and take them in.
There was something else that really stood out. Around the Christmas tree, which by the way was one of the most beautifully decorated ones we’ve ever seen, there were orange trees everywhere. It looked fantastic. Someone had cleverly tangled little elf legs into them, which only added to the Christmas feel.
We took a million photos because it really was that pretty.
And then, around the corner, there he was. The Grinch. He and Anja hugged like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. The Grinch and Home Alone are her favorite Christmas movies. It was perfect.We kept running into fairies and elves all over the village, but the Grinch won by a mile.
By a small church, a beautiful view over Barcelona opened up, and we immediately thought it would be the perfect place to watch the fireworks. Later, one of the little elves told me they were having a private New Year’s party right there, so that idea of ours quietly floated away.
We wandered around the Christmas streets and among the orange trees for quite a while, and in the end stopped for waffles with Nutella and white chocolate. Everything was great. Only snow was missing.
Font Màgica The Magic Fountain and Les Quatre Columnes
So Anja wouldn’t overdo it, we decided to skip the planned viewpoint by the palace and instead started heading down toward the fountain at Plaça d’Espanya, where preparations for New Year’s were already underway.
The fountain was also built for that same World’s Fair.
As we found out later one evening, it puts on an unforgettable show of water, music, and light, and it’s free. It really is magical.
Behind it rise four powerful Ionic columns which, at first glance, well… slightly ruin the view of the palace in the background, but they carry strong symbolic meaning for Catalan identity. They represent the four stripes on the senyera, the Catalan flag.
As you walk away from the Magic Fountain, you can’t help but keep glancing back over your shoulder at Montjuïc. That view is truly spectacular. The only problem is that the best spot is right in the middle of the road. So I waited for the green light and walked back and forth across the crosswalk a few times to catch the shot I wanted.
On your way from the fountain to the metrо station, you can’t avoid passing between two large towers known as the Venetian Towers, meant as the gateway from Plaça d’Espanya toward Montjuïc. They too were built for the World’s Fair and were inspired by none other than the famous one on St. Mark’s Square in Venice.
At the time, Venice was a symbol of European beauty and historic grandeur, so the desire for that kind of inspiration makes perfect sense.
Back to the hotel
And then, on the square, the turn.
Anja says she doesn’t feel well. Just as I was unsuccessfully looking for the metro entrance, she says she feels weak. The decision was instant and unanimous: we’re going back to the hotel.
Where the hell is a taxi when you need one? Nowhere. So we walked.
Later Anja told me she thought we had taken a taxi. The fever was clearly already doing its thing.
When we got back to the room, the rain started pouring down outside. You know how it goes. Everything is good for something, because I doubt we would have gotten much out of the day in that rain anyway.
A few hours in bed might help. Just in case, I checked if there was a hospital nearby.
Reset
This was the first time someone actually got sick on one of our trips. Sure, someone had been a bit under the weather before we left, but I’ve always said it’s better to have a cold in London, Dublin, Helsinki, or Barcelona than to have it at home. Before a trip, that risk is covered by cancellation insurance. If it happens, it happens. Once you’re there, there’s not much you can do except rely on your travel medicine kit and hope for the best.
In my head, I canceled tomorrow’s trip to Tibidabo and let go of the rest of the planning.
Anja fell asleep. At three I checked her temperature, still high. At four, borderline. At six we had tickets for the light show at Santa Maria del Pi. Do we stay in or do we go? Is it even smart? Of course you worry, because you don’t know what’s coming. She said she wanted to go.
Looking back now, that fear of illness while traveling is just as stressful as when you’re at home. You react to the situation, not the location. Maybe that’s the lesson for next time.
Since any real effort was out of the question, I contacted the taxi driver who had picked us up at the airport. He said 30 euros to take us into the center. I knew it was a rip-off, but what could we do.
The ride that changed everything
We slowly got ready and waited for the taxi. The driver was still a man of few words, maybe feeling a bit guilty about the inflated price. Just past La Rambla, he turned off the main road and, over the retractable bollards, drove into Carrer del Pi. All fine, except the street was full of pedestrians.
We moved along at a snail’s pace, people staring at us like we’d fallen from the sky or were slightly out of our minds. I felt awkward, the girls were uncomfortable, and really, we were all a bit in shock.
When we talked about it later, we realized that this crazy ride might have been the very moment when things turned around.
Maybe it was the adrenaline of being in a taxi surrounded by a crowd of pedestrians staring at you in disbelief, maybe it was because we felt uncomfortable and awkward. It had to be something like that, because it woke all of us up and, in a way, filled us with energy. Most of all Anja, which was what mattered most.
Barcelona Cathedral and Plaça de Sant Jaume
Since we still had some time before the show, we decided to visit the cathedral nearby. We made our way through narrow streets that once again felt very Venetian and came out onto an open square. We searched in vain for the cathedral’s famous façade. A few days later we realized we had given up about 20 meters too early.
We followed the crowd and walked under the bridge on Carrer del Bisbe, one of Barcelona’s key photo spots. The bridge again brought to mind the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, as you pass the Doge’s Palace. We’ve never noticed so many similarities between two cities anywhere else. I haven’t found a solid explanation for it, although I doubt the similarities are just coincidence.
The street with the bridge opens out onto Plaça de Sant Jaume, the square of political power, home to City Hall and the seat of the Catalan government.
Then time started pushing us, and we had to head back to the site of the day’s final act.
The laser projection was phenomenal. It looks as if the inside of the church breaks apart, dissolves, disappears. The show lasts a good half hour.
Santa Maria del Pi
Del Pi means “by the pine,” because according to local tradition a mighty pine tree once stood here, in whose crown an image of the Virgin Mary was said to have been found.
It’s one of the city’s oldest churches, striking for its Gothic style and the huge rose window above the entrance. I’ve always found Gothic churches more beautiful than Baroque ones.
The interior is tall and dark, the walls are thick. But we weren’t here for the silence. We came for the light.
Luminiscence is a light show where Gothic architecture meets digital art. I chose the golden ticket because it gives you seats farther back, with a view of the entire nave.
We loved how, over more than half an hour, the church tells its own story. What it has been through, how it bled, how it blossomed, and how it came back to life again. All of this unfolds in a remarkable light show, as the church is built and taken apart before your eyes.
It ends with the “Ode to Joy,” the European anthem from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. You feel that you’re part of something bigger.
Discovering these light shows, first in Porto and now here, has been a real revelation. Now I look for them everywhere we go.
What a day it was.
From there, back toward La Rambla. Another taxi. This time 10 euros. Anja was already feeling much better.
When we got back to the room, a strange smell was coming from the bathroom again, this time like someone was baking something. But I simply didn’t have the energy anymore to go down to the front desk.
And that was that day.
It started beautifully, then in the middle of it put the whole trip into question, later pulled us back with a strange ride, and ended with a light show in a 14th-century Gothic church in the middle of Barcelona.
We don’t yet know what tomorrow will bring. We’ll decide in the morning. For now, just sleep.
December already feels like a busy month all by itself — with school events, after-school activities, and work on top of everything else. I had planned to take three days off before the holidays, while Igor had to keep working anyway.
But of course… why would the plan actually stick and stay simple?
So on Monday I first drove the girls to school, then headed to work myself to take care of a few last-minute things. Instead of being home at the planned noon, I only made it back around 3:30.
That “delay” immediately turned into rushing, because the clock was pushing us to get Nia to swimming practice and Nara to judo. Luckily, the drive to Nara’s training takes almost half an hour each way, so Nara and Igor used that time to go over the material for a test she had the next day.
Somehow, in all that chaos, we managed to get through the day. In the evening, all that was left was wrapping the little gifts for teachers and classmates — and my quiet hope that the next two days would follow the plan in my head at least a little bit.
The Battle Plan Against the Stores (That Didn’t Work)
Even though I had a carefully crafted battle plan to gracefully avoid the stores right before the holidays, it completely fell apart. There’s always something you end up missing.
So there I was on Tuesday morning at 8 a.m., lined up outside the stores, armed with my list and a quiet hope that it wouldn’t be too crowded. Of course, I ran into quite a few familiar faces, which meant that my “quick” one-hour shopping trip ended up taking twice as long.
Tuesday was all about big preparations for Wednesday’s dinner. Since there were more than twenty of us, it was clear the cooking wouldn’t take care of itself, and certainly not if we left it all for the last day.
Christmas Dinner and the People Who Are Family
Christmas dinner is our reserved time for the people we love. So it’s not just our immediate family sitting around the table, but also our friends. There’s a saying for that kind of family: family not by blood, but by heart.
In other words, people who don’t share our last name, but who do have a permanent seat at our table. And in our case, that’s absolutely true.
The day itself passed in a familiar mix of things: a little cooking, a little answering work emails and calls — all at the same time. A perfect pre-holiday kind of chaos, plus the usual drive to get Nia to swimming practice.
December 24th — My Favorite Day
And in the blink of an eye, December 24th arrived, the day that is closest to my heart out of all the days of the year.
The girls were finishing their last day of school for the year, Igor was wrapping up work, and I was putting the final touches on Christmas dinner. Dada set up the firehouse tables. Yes, really. Because of how many people we have, dinner at our place actually happens at two firehouse-style tables in the living room, which we try to dress up as festively as possible.
And finally, 5 p.m. arrived. Guests started showing up — some right on time, some fashionably late, entirely as expected.
For the first time, it all passed without stress or my usual bad mood. Everything felt simple… and a little magical. Maybe because someone very dear to me joined us for the first time with her two children, along with my mom’s friend Jožica. The two of them have been friends since first grade, which by my math makes that about 58 years — a long time and a beautiful friendship.
It was truly wonderful to spend the evening surrounded by people who make you realize you’ve hit the jackpot with your humans. Each of them is special in their own way, and together they create a kind of warmth that makes you feel incredibly lucky.
The kids happily prepared milk and cookies for Santa, who later left gifts for everyone. Slowly, the guests headed home, the house grew quiet, the girls quickly went to bed, and the two of us kept cleaning until about 1 a.m. — tired, but happy.
Holiday Pace, Viruses, and Home Alone
The rest of the holiday days passed in the blink of an eye.
We spent Christmas at home, and I mostly avoided cooking — aside from boiling some potatoes — the rest was leftovers from the day before, which absolutely counts. The day moved slowly, mostly spent on the couch, because Nara woke up with a cold.
I immediately went into full anti-virus mode, hoping it wouldn’t turn into anything worse and that our plans for Barcelona would stay intact.
And in the evening, the classic of all classics: Home Alone, all of us wearing matching pajamas that Santa had brought. If that’s not holiday perfection, I don’t know what is.
Neighbors, Eskimos, and the Garage
Next came our pre–New Year’s gathering with the neighbors in our garage. We’re really lucky — we all get along so well.
A small spread of food, the firehouse tables again, everyone dressed like Eskimos, mulled wine, homemade treats, and American pancakes for the kids. More food and drinks than we could possibly need, since everyone brought something. Maybe we should do it again just to use it all up.
Nara was already feeling much better — just enough for me to breathe a little easier. Of course, Igor ended up with an eye infection. Honestly, it never ends.
The Pharmacy, the Suitcases, and the Holy Trinity
Because I had basically been feeding Nara and Nia vitamins non-stop, our supply ran out quickly. So off to the pharmacy we went — eye drops for Igor, and then even a visit to the urgent care clinic for antibiotic drops.
Luckily, Saturday was a regular working day.
After lunch we started packing and realized it was going surprisingly fast. What took the most time was actually putting together our traveling pharmacy.
✅Cedevita
✅Čokolino
✅Barcaffe
The holy trinity is packed. We can finally close the suitcase with a clear conscience.
On the Starting Line
To top it all off, Home Alone 2, wrapped in blankets and pajamas, and then no more fuss — straight to bed.
