Personal narrative essays and reflections from the road.
Marrakech doesn’t ask you where you’re going — and that’s exactly the point. The moment you step through the arched gates of the medina, the city pulls you in like a current. Spice stalls bleed into carpet shops, which open onto shaded courtyards, which lead nowhere and everywhere at once. I had a loose plan…
I almost didn’t book the overnight train. The flight was cheaper, faster, and logical. But somewhere between clicking “compare prices” and actually confirming a ticket, I chose the slow way — a sleeper train from Budapest to Kraków, departing just after ten at night. It was the best travel decision I made all year. What…
