Day 01 Patience Is a Virtue
23. november, Østrig ⋅ ⛅ 32 °F
Our 10½-Hour Wait for the NightJet
We stepped off the Rinda at 11:00 AM, bags in hand, taking one last look at the ship that had carried us through the Danube. Via taxi, by 11:30, we were standing inside Wien Hauptbahnhof, beginning what would become a 10½-hour layover before our NightJet to Zürich. We didn’t choose the wait—sometimes travel simply hands you a day and says, “Figure it out.”
And so we did.
Fast-food warmth and early observations
Our first stop was McDonald’s. It was crowded, loud, and warm—the kind of midday chaos only a giant train-station McDonald’s can produce. Donna and I shared a large Coke, continuing her ongoing scientific study of European Coke vs. American Coke. The conclusion remains the same: the U.S. still wins by a wide margin. I skipped the coffee and we just sat for a while, watching Vienna move around us. But eventually the noise became too much, and we drifted back into the station to continue our search for a quieter place to land.
Down by the tracks — a different Vienna
We ended up in the public seating area near tracks 3–12, right under the giant departure board and—unfortunately—right beside the metal recycling bins. From here, a different side of the day revealed itself.
One by one, people approached the bins, pulling out recyclables for deposit money, carefully removing leftover food, or sorting through tossed-out pastries. It was quiet, steady, almost ritualistic. No begging. No confrontation. Just survival, happening quietly in the background as travelers like us waited for trains to carry us onward.
Travel is always teaching. Today it taught us to look a little closer.
Food court refugee life
Eventually, the cold of the platform area pushed us to the food court. We bought Burger King nuggets and water—then kept them in full view on the table. Technically, you’re only allowed to sit there if you’re actively eating something from the vendors.
A young man across from us had no food displayed, his head was on his backpack on the table and was approached by security and asked to move. Donna whispered that we probably got a pass because we’re older white Americans with food clearly visible. She wasn’t wrong. Travel exposes the unspoken rules of public spaces—who gets to rest and who doesn’t.
So we stayed put, nursing our nuggets, charging our phones, watching the hours slowly pass. Ready to go get more if needed. We had a plan.
A shouting voice and staying aware
At one point, an unhinged woman came through the station shouting loudly in German, clearly distressed. Her voice echoed above the crowd. For a moment, I wondered if it was a distraction—pickpocket teams sometimes use noise as a tactic—but there was no coordinated movement. It was simply another moment in the long day of a major train station: humanity in all its forms, from tired tourists to people struggling in ways we’ll never fully understand.
6:15 PM — low batteries, high tension
By 6:15 PM, both our phones were in the red. After hours of navigating, photographing, and scrolling to fill time, seeing that last sliver of battery felt like betrayal. I pulled out the battery pack and we set up a little island of cables and adapters on the table. Watching our phones slowly revive felt like reviving ourselves.
7:50 PM — the oasis appears
Finally—finally—at 7:50 PM, we stepped into the ÖBB Lounge, and the day shifted instantly. First class travelers are allowed access to the lounge an hour before the train leaves. We tried to get in sooner and were rejected by a “by the book” security guard.
Quiet. Warm. Clean.
Soft grey seating.
Low lighting.
Complimentary drinks and snacks.
A view over the bustling station below.
It was the exhale we needed after a long, drifting day. For the first time since leaving the Rinda, we felt genuinely settled.
9:20 PM — All aboard
When our platform was announced, we gathered our bags and walked to the NightJet. At 9:20 PM, we stepped into our sleeper cabin—small, cozy, clean, and ours. After 10½ hours of wandering, waiting, observing, and staying just one step ahead of exhaustion, closing that cabin door felt like the day finally let go.
We didn’t kill each other.
We stayed warm.
We stayed aware.
And somewhere along the way, we learned a little more about the world and the people moving through it.
Tonight, we fall asleep to the rhythm of the tracks, heading toward Zürich.
Tomorrow, a new chapter begins.
#Vienna #WienHbf #NightJet #Zurich #TravelJournal #EuropeByRail #LongLayover #TrainTravel #McDonaldsEurope #WaitingGame #TravelLife #AustriaToSwitzerland #FindPenguins #JourneyContinuesLæs mere
Day 01 Our TreeFort on the NightJet
23. november, Østrig ⋅ 🌧 37 °F
As the NightJet rounded the bend into the platform, a wave of accomplishment rolled over both of us. After the long wait in the Vienna station — moments of uneasiness here and there — we finally had our ride. We were tired, a bit frayed around the edges, and more than ready to settle in.
To my fellow Viking River passengers: if you ever thought your cabins on the ship were too small (we didn’t), the First Class compartment on NightJet 466 is about the size of a walk-in closet in one of the Viking Suites. Cozy would be the polite word. Micro-compact is more accurate.
Donna volunteered for the upper bunk; I secured the lower. It took about thirty minutes for us to get ourselves sorted — stowing our carry-ons under the bed, finding homes for our shoes, CPAP, clothes, water bottles, glasses, phones, and all the little things. It felt like being in my own treehouse in the woods, figuring out where every treasure should go. My CPAP plugged in nicely (thank you, European adapter). My morning clothes waited at the foot of the bed. My phone and glasses nestled in the little net cargo holder beside me. Perfect.
And the blanket — I loved that blanket. Lightweight, but with a gentle weight that felt like someone whispering, go to sleep, you’re safe here. They place it folded in thirds; you just open it and rotate it 90 degrees for full length. A simple pleasure, but a good one.
Donna, eye mask securely in place, finally said, “STOP,” as I narrated everything I saw outside the window. You cannot see much from the top bunk, and she wanted to sleep. I, however, was far too excited.
It was like watching a movie through my cabin window — a nighttime panorama in slow motion. The lights of the city sliding past; the silhouettes of old buildings; the sudden rush of another train roaring by in the opposite direction. Then came the countryside: tall mountains reduced to shadow, a treeline etched in near-black ink, reflections shimmering from a quiet lake. Streetlights created dancing patterns across the land. A few homes glowed warmly in the darkness — I even saw smoke curling from a chimney.
Hard to believe I was on a night train slicing through Austria toward Switzerland. For many, this might be a simple routine. For me, it felt like something out of a Clive Cussler or John Grisham novel. I was riding my own small version of the Orient Express.
(And yes — Donna is now thinking we may redo our master bedroom at home… with bunk beds. Stay tuned.)
Eventually, about an hour later, I fumbled in the dark for my CPAP headgear and eye pillow. I closed the window blind and let the rhythm of the rails guide me into sleep. We actually slept pretty well — except for each time the train stopped. Then we’d both wake up for a few seconds wondering: Where are we?
Did we crash?
Are we being boarded by pirates?
Has Interpol finally caught up with us?
Moments later, the train would start rolling again, and the music of the tracks would pull us right back into our dreams.
Donna set a 6:45 AM alarm — fifteen minutes before breakfast. We readied ourselves as best we could in our tiny tree fort. Breakfast arrived at the cabin. It wasn’t Teo, Yuri, or the beautiful Rinda service we grew fond of — but it was exactly what we needed: simple, warm, and enough to start the day. We ate, dressed, tidied up our little space, and got ourselves organized.
When the train coasted into Zurich, we gathered our things. As we stepped off, I couldn’t help but whisper a small thank-you to our makeshift hideaway.
Good-bye, tree fort. You served us well.
#NightJet #OvernightTrain #TrainTravel #ViennaToZurich #RidingTheRails #TravelEurope #FindPenguins #PaulAndDonna #NightTrainAdventure #VikingToZurichLæs mere
Day 02 Train to Sagans
24. november, Schweiz ⋅ ❄️ 37 °F
Coming soon
Day 02 World’s Best Haircut
24. november, Liechtenstein ⋅ ☁️ 46 °F
Up until today, the best haircut Donna and I ever had was in Cádiz, Spain. A little beauty parlor down a cobblestone street… not much English spoken, just a warm memory we’ve carried for years. And yes, while we were on the Rinda, I took a little friendly heat for my developing “Cosmo Kramer–style” hairdo.
After we checked into our hotel in Vaduz — three hours early, which felt like a gift — we decided to wander through this charming little capital. And right outside our hotel was a barbershop. I looked at Donna, raised an eyebrow, and asked if it was okay to get my “hairs” cut. She agreed. They only do men’s cuts, so Donna became the photographer and spectator.
Photography credit goes entirely to her — she was having way too much fun.
My barber, Adam, had everything under complete control: clippers, comb, scissors, the whole arsenal. At one point he asked if I wanted a shave.
“Full service!” I replied.
The steam came out. My face was wrapped in a turban. I even had my eyebrows threaded — a first for me. Then came the shaving cream, and Adam, with the precision of an artist, gave me one of the best razor shaves I’ve ever had.
Donna enjoyed the show almost as much as I enjoyed the pampering.
After the mini-facial, the shave, and the new styling, the final results were right there for the world to see. Donna took one look and said that while Cádiz had held the crown for years… it looks like I may have found a new barber here in Vaduz, Liechtenstein.
Thumb through the photos to the last one — do you agree?
#Liechtenstein #Vaduz #TravelDiaries #EightDaysToBarcelona #BestHaircutEver #BarberLife #TravelMoments #SimplyStreet #FindPenguinsLæs mere
Day 02 Afteroon in Vaduz
24. november, Liechtenstein ⋅ ☁️ 46 °F
After our tree-fort adventure on rails, we arrived in Zurich just before 9:00 AM and hustled to catch the next train toward Sargans, Switzerland. From there, a 35-minute local bus carried us deeper into the mountains toward Vaduz, Liechtenstein. A kind woman on the bus tipped us off about the best stop for the shortest walk to our hotel — a blessing for two tired travelers dragging luggage across uphill cobblestones.
We reached the Hotel Vaduzerhof after circling to the wrong side of the building to find the entrance. The hotel is fully self-service — check-in by touchscreen. Thankfully, even with a 3:00 PM check-in time, our room was ready at 1:00 PM. We dropped everything, took a breath, and stepped back out into this small, charming capital.
A quick factoid about Liechtenstein & Vaduz
Liechtenstein is one of the smallest countries in the world — a doubly-landlocked principality tucked between Switzerland and Austria, known for its alpine landscapes, strong economy, and the medieval Vaduz Castle overlooking the town. Vaduz itself is tiny; you can walk end-to-end in under an hour, yet it remains the nation’s political and cultural center. It’s a place where mountain quiet meets storybook charm.
After wandering the streets, we discovered Adler Vaduz, a local restaurant first opened in 1908. We enjoyed a remarkable dinner of traditional cuisine. Walter, the owner, stopped by to share the history — his grandfather first opened the establishment, once a hotel with rooms upstairs. Over the years, those rooms became office space he now rents out, while he continues running the café/restaurant with pride. The charm is exactly what you’d expect in a fairy tale, and the food? Easily equal to a five-star, over-priced Manhattan restaurant — but delivered here with warmth, not swagger.
As we said good-bye to our waitress, the sun was sliding behind the mountains. We walked past our hotel toward the small ice rink in the middle of town. Remember — Vaduz is the capital of Liechtenstein, yet still so small and gentle you could miss it if you blinked. A little booth by the rink was selling warm drinks. The sign said €4 for hot chocolate. For reasons unknown, it cost me €20 — I didn’t question it. We sat with our drinks and watched kids, families, and young couples circling the ice. A few of them hit the ice more than once. Gravity works the same in Liechtenstein.
The hot chocolate arrived in gorgeous decorative ceramic mugs — bright red with Christmas designs. I noticed people walking away with the mugs, but we had no room in our luggage. Q-tip swabs are fighting for space at this point. So I returned our empty mugs to the sweet older woman running the booth — and she handed me €12 back.
Ah! Mystery solved.
€10 if you want to keep the mug.
€4 if you return it.
A charming and very effective business model.
And this same gentle grandmotherly woman?
She’s also running a full DJ sound system and light show for the rink. Lasers, colorful lights, music echoing through the plaza — it was delightful.
But the day had been long. We had traveled from Vienna to Zurich through the night, made our transfers into this Christmas-card village, and our energy was gone. I took Donna’s hand as we walked over the cobblestones. All we had to do was look up the mountainside — the castle glowed above us in full evening majesty.
The magic of the room key opened our door. Hot showers washed the journey away. And the pillows — absolutely heavenly. The kind you absolutely want to steal but won’t.
Good night, Vaduz.
See you in the morning.
#Vaduz #Liechtenstein #AlpineVillage #ChristmasMarket #TravelEurope #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #NightJetToZurich #AdlerVaduz #TravelStoryLæs mere
Day 03 Good Morning Vaduz, Städtle
25. november, Liechtenstein ⋅ 🌧 37 °F
It’s normal for me to wake up before Donna, so I quietly opened the drapes to see the castle sitting on the hillside, wrapped in gray clouds. Yesterday’s clothes were in a pile from last night — there is absolutely no chance we are opening our suitcases. They’re packed tighter than a Boeing overhead bin. I got dressed from the pile and headed down to the breakfast room.
A classic European breakfast was laid out — breads, cheeses, meats, fruits. For now, I just had a cappuccino and set up my phone with the Bluetooth keyboard to write a post and draft a few fillers. A little later I went back upstairs, woke Donna, and we came down for breakfast together. We’re getting used to these simple spreads — there’s something pleasant about starting the day with baguettes and cheese rather than scrambled eggs and bacon.
Coats on, we stepped outside into the cool morning. Today’s plan was simple: walk the town, visit the cathedral, and — because this is Liechtenstein — stroll twenty minutes across the bridge straight into Switzerland. You can literally walk into another country before you finish a cup of coffee. Very cool.
City workers were busy decorating the streets for Christmas. It wasn’t finished yet, but you could already imagine how magical it will look in a few days. As Donna and I wandered over the cobblestones, all I could think about was the Hallmark Christmas movie waiting to be written. Donna plays the lovely woman visiting Vaduz for the holidays. I’m the rugged local guy (we’ll pick a strong Liechtenstein name for me later), born and raised here. Donna is engaged to a wealthy stockbroker back home but unsure about her future. Naturally, she joins me to help save the Vaduz Christmasfest — and somewhere between lighting displays and gingerbread stands, we fall in love. Of course.
The streets are dotted with art, but the store window featuring two strange naked men sculptures might win the prize. I’m not sure how they’re supposed to work as marketing, but they were definitely attracting attention — I wasn’t the only one with a camera pointed at them.
As we walked around the back of the cathedral, I noticed a group of seniors in the community center taking their 9:00 AM morning dance class. For a moment I hesitated with the camera — it felt like I might be intruding on something private, something meant just for them. But what I really saw was simply life happening… normal people, just like at home, showing up for their routines, their friendships, their joy. While we’re out here wandering the world, they’re doing their Thursday morning dance class. Somehow, that small glimpse made Vaduz feel even more real, more human, more connected.
We headed toward the cathedral next — I’ll share those photos in a separate post.
A gentle start to the day, the castle watching over us, and the Christmas spirit quietly gathering in the background. More adventures in Vaduz still to come.
#Vaduz #Liechtenstein #GoodMorningVaduz #AlpineVillage #TravelEurope #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #CrossingIntoSwitzerland #ChristmasInVaduzLæs mere
RejsendeYour vivid story plays to my heart; In 1944 an older couple in Liechtenstein, secretly housed my Dad & his US army signal corps equipment for several weeks in their attic to set up radio relays for our soldiers during WW II. 24 yrs later he took our family ( I being a teen) for a return visit- they remembered him & showered us with warm hugs & friendship. Patsy
Day 03 Vaduz Cathedral
25. november, Schweiz ⋅ 🌧 41 °F
When you travel through the South Pacific or Asia, there comes a moment when you see your twentieth temple of the week and feel the urge to politely whisper, “Okay… enough.” Europe is similar. The churches and cathedrals are magnificent, moving, historic — but after a while, it can all become a bit of an architectural overload.
The Vaduz Cathedral, by comparison, is almost refreshing in its simplicity.
The Cathedral of St. Florin was built between 1869 and 1873, designed by the Austrian architect Friedrich von Schmidt, who was also behind parts of Vienna’s Rathaus. Originally a parish church, it wasn’t elevated to cathedral status until 1997, when the Archdiocese of Vaduz was created. The style is neo-Gothic, clean and restrained — pointed arches, delicate stained glass, and a single spire that watches quietly over the town. Beneath the church lie the tombs of Liechtenstein’s princes and princesses, tying the country’s spiritual and political history together.
Inside the vestibule, I noticed a small rack of children’s books. It made me smile — a universal question across all faiths and continents: How do we keep the kids quiet in church? That same logistical challenge has apparently been passed down since the invention of pews.
Nearby were bottles of holy water for sale at €5 each. I paused. I genuinely wondered if this was part of Jesus’ original marketing plan. Maybe it’s mentioned in the Gospel of Facebook, chapter 7, verse 12:
“Thou shalt hydrate thy soul… for a small convenience fee.”
I don’t know. Maybe I missed that day in Sunday School.
The cathedral itself is lovely — light-filled, peaceful, understated. But as often happens when we visit grand houses of worship, a deeper question rose up again. If there is a God —is this really what was intended? Across the world we’ve walked into cathedrals dripping in gold and marble, then stepped outside to find people begging for enough money to eat. Something about that contrast feels profoundly out of rhythm with the teachings those buildings were meant to honor.
To be clear, that’s not the case here in Vaduz. It’s simply a recurring thought — a reminder that beauty and wealth don’t always align with compassion and care. And maybe that’s why this cathedral, simple and honest, felt more human than most.
#Vaduz #CathedralStFlorin #VaduzCathedral #Liechtenstein #TravelEurope #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #ReflectionsOnFaith #ArchitectureAndLifeLæs mere
RejsendeWe plan to visit there in the summer as I have discovered, via genealogy research, that my Schoch family is from Herisau, Switzerland—not too far away. They came to PA in the early 1880s.
Day 03 A walk to Switzerland
25. november, Liechtenstein ⋅ ☁️ 41 °F
After visiting the Vaduz Cathedral, we set out on a short 20–30 minute walk toward the Old Rhine Bridge (German: Alte Rheinbrücke), first completed in 1901. The bridge stretches 135 meters across the Rhine and, since 1975, has been reserved exclusively for pedestrians and cyclists — no cars, just footsteps, bicycles, and the quiet hum of people crossing between two countries as casually as walking down a driveway.
A few simple streets led us from downtown Vaduz onto a bike path, and the path eventually brought us to the covered wooden bridge itself. This section of the Rhine is often called the Alpine Rhine, the upper river that winds north between Liechtenstein and Switzerland, forming the natural border between the two. Snow capped the mountain peaks in the distance, the air was crisp, and everything felt peaceful. It was one of those gentle travel moments where the world slows down just enough for you to notice all the good parts.
There was also something quietly amazing about the contrast: one day we’re floating along the Danube, and just a couple of days later we’re crossing the Rhine on foot. Two great rivers, two entirely different moods — yet both part of this same larger journey.
I don’t have too many colorful things to add here. It was simply a lovely walk, a beautiful bridge, and a small joy to step into Switzerland the way you might step into your neighbor’s yard.
Please enjoy the photos — I’ll let them speak for themselves.
#Vaduz #Liechtenstein #OldRhineBridge #AlteRheinbrücke #CrossingIntoSwitzerland #AlpineRhine #TravelEurope #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguinsLæs mere
Day 03 More to do in Vaduz
25. november, Schweiz ⋅ ☁️ 43 °F
After walking across the Rhine River into Switzerland, we turned back toward Vaduz — there was still more to explore, and only one full day to do it. Our next stop was the Kunstmuseum Liechtenstein, the country’s national museum for modern and contemporary art. Opened in 2000, the museum is known for its sleek black basalt façade and its strong emphasis on conceptual and multimedia work. It partners with the nearby Hilti Art Foundation, giving tiny Liechtenstein a surprisingly impressive art footprint.
Inside, we wandered through a playful, interactive space clearly designed for “kids of all ages,” which Donna and I took as a personal invitation. We explored exhibitions featuring the bold text-and-video works of Tony Cokes, the conceptual media of Henrik Olesen, and even a Warhol Marilyn Monroe. It’s always fun to see a Warhol overseas, but once you’ve stood in front of the full MoMA collection, these European cameos feel a bit like his more introverted cousin.
In the museum today, I met a gentleman who instantly caught my eye — not because of anything he said, but because of what was hanging from his shoulder: a vintage 1950s Leica, the kind of camera that whispers stories before the shutter even clicks. I was drawn to it like a moth to a beautifully machined flame. We struck up a conversation, two strangers connected by glass and gears. He told me he collects old Leicas, each one with its own history baked into the brass. He graciously let me take his portrait, the camera resting against him like an old friend. Moments like that remind me why I still love photography — not just the images, but the people and the stories that come with them.
As we were leaving the museum, Donna mentioned she could really go for a Coca-Cola. Fate stepped in. The sushi restaurant tucked inside the museum happened to serve her new favorite soda — Fritz-Kola — a tiny German company started in 2003 by two friends in Hamburg who apparently decided cola should taste bolder and wake the dead with caffeine. So we grabbed a table, shared a fresh salad, sipped our Fritz-Kolas, and enjoyed a quiet little lunch before heading back into the day.
The next stop on our plan was the Altes Kino, the old Vaduz theater, where a short documentary plays about life inside Vaduz Castle. Since the palace is strictly private and not open to visitors, the film is the closest any of us will get to understanding the rhythms of life inside those stone walls. We were early, so we made a strategic detour into Dolce, the local chocolate shop glowing like a Christmas ornament. A couple of sweet treats later, we crossed the street to the theater and settled into vintage red velvet seats. The film was surprisingly informative — a behind-the-scenes look at restoration work, palace traditions, and the daily life of the principality’s ruling family. Even fairy-tale castles need maintenance schedules.
From there, we caught a local bus out to the Hofkellerei des Fürsten von Liechtenstein, the Prince’s royal winery. It’s only two stops from downtown; we probably could have walked, but by afternoon our feet had filed a formal protest. Traveling off-season has its perks — our 3:00 PM wine tasting became a private session. The young woman leading us through the experience was lovely, offering a thoughtful tour and a generous lineup of wines. Even the ice wine won both Donna and me over. But with only a backpack and carry-on each, we had nowhere to stash a bottle. (At this point, even the Q-tips are fighting for space.)
We walked back toward town hoping for another dinner at Adler Vaduz, which we adored the night before. But the restaurant side was already closed, leaving only the small café open. They kindly directed us to a nearby Italian place — and we’re fairly certain Walter owns this one too. A couple of simple pastas and a glass of wine later, we were fully convinced that Vaduz does not know how to serve a bad meal.
From there, the evening shifted into travel mode. We needed to be up early for a long run of buses and trains carrying us toward Milan, Italy. So we headed back to the hotel, took long showers, and stole one more look at the palace glowing above the town — that quiet, watchful guardian of Vaduz. Then our heads hit the pillows, grateful for the day behind us and ready for the miles ahead.
#Vaduz #Liechtenstein #Kunstmuseum #Hofkellerei #OldCinemaVaduz #TravelEurope #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #ExploringVaduzLæs mere
Day 03 Wines of Liechinstein
25. november, Liechtenstein ⋅ ☁️ 41 °F
I’m still deep in catch-up mode with these FindPenguins posts — today is actually Friday, December 5th, and it’s almost impossible to believe that only ten days ago Donna and I were standing in the crisp afternoon air, tasting wines at the Hofkellerei des Fürsten von Liechtenstein, the royal family’s vineyard. Time on this trip has been moving the way wine ages: slowly in the moment, and then suddenly — whoosh — a whole week is gone.
I’m using this post as a footprint to show off the vineyard itself, the restaurant on the property, a few of the wines we tasted, and the quiet walk back into Vaduz afterward… all of which made up one of the gentlest, most enjoyable parts of our day.
Traveling off-season turned out to be our secret superpower. We arrived a little before our 3:00 PM tasting and spent a while wandering the grounds — rows of vines, mountains painted with a dusting of snow, and the kind of deep alpine silence you can feel in your chest. Inside, a young woman welcomed us and led what ended up being a private tasting, just the two of us. She walked us through the winemaking process, the history of the estate, and then poured a lineup of whites, reds, and even a very lovely ice wine. Donna and I looked at each other with the same expression: Yep… that one’s good.
If we weren’t traveling with only a backpack and a carry-on (and if our Q-tips weren’t already fighting for survival in there), we would have absolutely brought home a bottle or two. Instead, we limited ourselves to memories and photos — much easier to pack.
From the vineyard, we walked the quiet path back into Vaduz, watching the light settle behind the mountains. Our hope was to return to Adler Vaduz for a second dinner, but the restaurant side had already closed for the night. The staff kindly sent us to a nearby Italian spot — one that we’re pretty sure Walter owns as well. It was simple, comforting: pastas, a bit of wine, and two travelers who had already walked a full day.
It wasn’t the most dramatic part of our trip, but it was one of the most peaceful — the kind of afternoon that slips into the heart quietly and stays there.
#Vaduz #Liechtenstein #Hofkellerei #WinesOfLiechtenstein #TravelEurope #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #VineyardLife #OffSeasonTravelLæs mere
Day 04 Good-bye Vaduz, on to Milan
26. november, Schweiz ⋅ ⛅ 50 °F
It was perfectly fitting — almost scripted — that when I woke up early and opened the hotel curtains, soft snow was drifting around the Vaduz Castle. Our time in Liechtenstein now officially had all the elements of a Hallmark movie: a tiny alpine capital, Christmas decorations going up, and now a light snowfall over the castle on the hill. I headed downstairs for a cappuccino and some blogging while Donna caught a little more sleep. Today was a travel day, and we needed the energy.
We did a self-checkout from the hotel and dragged our carry-ons, backpacks, and CPAP machines over the cobblestone streets toward the bus stop. The wait was short. The local bus carried us to Schaan-Vaduz Station, the main rail connection for the principality. From there, we managed to catch an earlier train to Zürich HB — a nice bonus. Once in Zürich, we felt like old pros. We’ve been through this station before, and it’s always reassuring to return to a place that feels familiar.
We had a bit of time before our train to Milan, so we ducked into a café perfectly — almost suspiciously — named “Oscars.” Since that’s our grandson’s name, it was a no-brainer. I ordered the Oscar’s Special. We settled in with hot chocolates and croissants and quietly claimed a table for over two hours. We made sure to order more than one round and left a healthy tip. We were definitely not the only two people there obviously “killing time.”
Once on the train, life slipped into a calm rhythm. Mountains glided past the window, the rails offered their steady clickity-clack, and occasionally a passing train gave a powerful WOOOSH that shook the windows. A peaceful 3+ hour ride — a rare, built-in moment to simply breathe.
Then came Chiasso, the Swiss–Italian border station where customs officers board and crews switch. Time seemed to pause. An announcement told everyone to take out their passports. Donna placed hers neatly on the tray table. I held mine in my hand like a peace offering. Several agents walked by… and kept right on walking.
Through the open doors between train cars, I could see a young man being thoroughly questioned. The officers had him empty his entire backpack — every item examined as though it might reveal the plot of a spy novel.
Naturally, I assumed they were on to us.
If they asked us to open our luggage, we were doomed — it was packed so tightly it would have exploded like a car in a James Bond 007 chase scene, taking out the customs agents and forcing us to rely on our MI6 skills as we leapt from the moving train.
But none of that happened. They ignored us completely.
As glamorous as that imaginary scene was, I was oddly disappointed that our passports never got checked. Perhaps that’s one of the quiet advantages of being an older white tourist couple from America — we apparently radiate “harmless.” Still, we were relieved our cover story held. Travel Rule #17:
Look the part, play the part. If you believe it… they’ll believe it.
By the time we arrived in Milan, the sun was setting. We had a 20–30 minute walk ahead of us, dragging our luggage through dark, unfamiliar streets. It wasn’t the roughest area we’ve ever walked, but our radar was tuned to full awareness. And we were tired.
At last, we reached our Airbnb. The elevator was hilariously tight — our luggage and our bodies barely fit. Another sardine would’ve been a deal-breaker. But it carried us upward, and that was all we needed.
On our floor, our host Livia greeted us warmly, walked us through the apartment details, had us sign the standard rental agreement, and pointed us toward Alice Pizza for a simple dinner before collapsing into bed.
And, just before reaching the Airbnb, Donna paused at a nail salon window. She didn’t say anything… but something was definitely being considered. I’ve been married long enough to recognize that look.
A long day of trains, borders, snow, and new streets — and tomorrow, Milan awaits.
#Vaduz #Liechtenstein #TravelDay #ZürichHB #Chiasso #MilanArrival #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #TrainTravel #EuropeByRailLæs mere
Day 04 Tired & Hungry in Milano
26. november, Italien ⋅ 🌙 45 °F
After the long travel day from Vaduz — a day that felt like a trilogy of trains, sidewalks, and “Are we going the right way?” moments — Donna and I rolled into Milan absolutely wiped out. At this point in the trip, our pace officially qualifies us for The Amazing Race: Senior Edition. We didn’t need culture or fashion or grand architecture. We needed dinner. And a pillow. Preferably in that order.
Our Airbnb host pointed us toward a local pizza place just a couple of blocks away. Easy mission. We followed our stomachs straight to Alice’s Pizza — a fast-food style franchise we later spotted all over the city. But let me say this clearly: this was not your typical franchise disappointment. This was, “Wow… why is this so good?” pizza. The crust was thin and firm, the bread had this wonderful almost-but-not-quite-explainable flavor, and the sauce and toppings fused into something far better than two exhausted travelers deserved.
While we ate, a young woman at the table across from us struck up a conversation — energetic, friendly, the kind of person who genuinely loves her city and wants you to love it too. She gave us a handful of restaurant recommendations for our visit. I feel terrible that I forgot her name, but we were running on fumes and melted cheese. Her kindness, though, stuck with us.
Before heading out, I took a few photos — the workers behind the counter tossing slices like artwork, the glorious display of pizzas, the storefront glowing like a beacon of salvation to the tired and hungry. Then we made our way back to the Airbnb, squeezed ourselves into the tiny elevator (Italy is apparently designed for people the size of espresso cups), and crashed. Hard. Pillows never had a chance.
Today was long, messy, funny, and unforgettable. We traveled from a quiet morning in Vaduz to the vibrant energy of Milan, crossing borders, landscapes, and several personal limits of patience. But ending the day with unexpectedly great pizza, a kind stranger, and the soft thud of our heads hitting fresh pillows felt like a small reward for pushing through. Travel isn’t always glamorous — most days it’s more perseverance than postcard — but it’s these tiny human moments that make the journey worth it.
Tomorrow… we explore Milan.
#Milano #TravelLife #PizzaInItaly #AlicePizza #TiredTravelers #AmazingRaceEnergy #FindPenguins #EuroAdventure #OnTheWayToBarcelona #365DaysOfTravelLæs mere
Day 05 Exploring Milan
27. november, Italien ⋅ ☀️ 34 °F
When we finally woke up and opened the windows to daylight, we saw Milan for what it truly is — bright, beautiful, and full of character. Our late-night arrival had shown us only shadowed streets and tired impressions, but the morning light pulled back the curtain. Suddenly, we were in Europe again.
Even the door-locking mechanism in our apartment fascinated me — a clever, over-engineered system clearly designed to slow down anyone trying to break in. It took both of us a minute to figure out how to escape the apartment, which is always a good way to feel like seasoned travelers.
We walked to a nearby café for breakfast, then over to Nail Fata to set up Donna’s appointment later in the day. From there, we hopped onto the underground metro and headed toward the more touristy heart of Milan. A street-tour guide convinced us to join a combined museum and cathedral tour — and honestly, it was worth every euro to skip the long lines and have someone knowledgeable bring the story of the Duomo to life.
Inside and out, the Duomo di Milano was breathtaking. No photograph can prepare you for it. The façade rises like a forest of marble spires, each carved with impossible detail. Our guide explained how construction began in the 1300s and continued for centuries, which suddenly made sense as we walked beneath towering stained glass and past sculptures tucked into every niche. The entire structure feels alive — ancient yet somehow always becoming.
Then came the climb.
We made our way all the way to the tippy top of the cathedral. The walk upward was pure wonder — sculpture after sculpture revealing itself at eye level, as though the architects assumed people would eventually climb this high. Donna, who does not love heights, deserves full honors for making it to the summit. Her main concern, hilariously enough, wasn’t the elevation but whether our extra travel pounds would cause the 600-year-old building to crumble. I assured her it had been standing for centuries. She shot back, “Yeah… and it can fall down at any time now.”
Touché.
I held her hand as we crossed the rooftop pathways toward the exit door, a quiet moment suspended above the city. Then came the long spiral descent — narrow stone steps, polished by generations of feet, echoing with our laughter and relief.
We took the underground back toward the Airbnb, and more importantly, back to Nail Fata for Donna’s appointment (see Day 05: It’s Donna’s Turn). Later, we grabbed an Uber to Eataly, that wonderful hybrid of elegant grocery store and restaurant. Dinner was excellent — fresh, flavorful, and exactly what a long day of walking, climbing, and awe requires.
One final Uber home, one last practice run with the apartment door lock, and then we tried to get to bed early. Tomorrow begins our next challenge: figuring out how to get to Monaco.
#Milan #DuomoDiMilano #ExploringItaly #TravelAdventures #VikingJourney #EuropeanDays #MilanoStyle #ArtAndArchitecture #FindPenguins #OnwardToMonacoLæs mere
Day 05 It’s Donna’s Turn
27. november, Italien ⋅ 🌙 46 °F
Donna found a new happy place in Milan, Italy — and it was only a few doors down from our Airbnb. Nail Fata.
Last night when we arrived, everything on the street was dark and shuttered. But this morning, after a quick breakfast croissant at the café, our first mission was to stop in and see if Donna could secure an appointment.
Success.
She booked a 5:00 PM slot — which meant we were free to explore Milan for the day.
As mentioned in a previous post, I had already been pampered with a full-service haircut experience back in Vaduz. Donna, on the other hand, was overdue. It had been over five weeks since her last manicure, and her nails were politely suggesting, “It’s time.”
Back home, Donna is a loyal Sofia Nails customer in East Windsor, CT, where Amy — her favorite manicurist — always knows exactly what Donna wants. Before this trip, Amy even designed a clever angled pattern on her nails so that as they grew out, there would be no sharp half-moon line announcing to the world that a manicure was overdue. Genius.
With the help of one of the ladies acting as interpreter, Donna explained to the manicurist at Nail Fata that she wanted the same design recreated. The goal was clear; the question was whether Milan artistry could match East Windsor precision.
While Donna settled in, I lingered outside taking photos through the window — part street photographer, part husband smart enough not to interrupt a woman in her beauty-zone. Inside, Donna was at the manicure table having what looked like a Formula 1 pit crew session on her fingertips. The precision! The teamwork!
If my barber in Vaduz was an artist, these women were micro-engineers.
I kept snapping photos, watching Donna’s smile get bigger with each brush stroke. The other women in the shop were clearly in their own happy places too. Milan has that effect on people. This city doesn’t treat style as a luxury — here, style is oxygen. It’s in the clothes, the architecture, the attitudes… and yes, in the nail studios.
The manicurist worked carefully, occasionally referring to the reference photos, perfecting the lines and angles of Amy’s original design. When she finished, she took a photo of her own work — a new design she could now add to her portfolio. It took longer than usual, but Donna was genuinely happy with the result.
Still, she knew one thing for certain:
Amy in East Windsor will always be her go-to for the perfect mani/pedi.
But for today?
Donna had her Milan moment — and she glowed all the way home.
Hint: You will need to look at all of the images to get to the last one to see the final results. Add reply note to tell Donna what you think of the look.
#Milan #NailFata #DonnaTime #ItalyDays #TravelMoments #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #ManicureInMilanLæs mere
Day 06 Milan to Monaco Train Strike
28. november, Italien ⋅ 🌙 32 °F
When we arrived in Milan two days earlier, our Airbnb host Livia sent me a quiet warning text: there might be a national train strike on Friday from 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM.
We already had tickets to leave Milan at 11:10 AM and arrive in Monaco around 3:00 PM. Donna was tired, and I was confident I’d figure it out, so I kept this little nugget of potential chaos to myself until the next day. Livia later sent me an alternate schedule that almost worked — which, in strike conditions, is as good as it gets.
On Friday, November 28, Italy’s national rail strike kicked in. During these strikes, trains may be delayed, canceled, or simply not run at all, with only a few early “guaranteed” services operating before the 9:00 AM cutoff. Translation: if you weren’t already on a train before 9:00, you were likely going nowhere.
We were impacted.
The night before, we packed everything so we could wake up and go. Alarms were set for 4:30 AM. Breakfast consisted of deli meats and bread — survival food. We grabbed an Uber to Milano Centrale with one goal: get on a train before the strike clock started.
My plan was to hit customer service and secure tickets for the 6:10 AM train toward Ventimiglia. Of course, customer service didn’t open until 6:15 AM. Perfect.
With help from a kind local, I managed to buy tickets machine anyway. Only later did I realize I’d selected Ventimiglia, Italy, not France — a subtle but important distinction when your final destination is Monaco.
Still, we were moving.
We boarded the train from Milan to Genova, arriving with less than 15 minutes to find the next platform and catch a train to Savona. Genova’s station is a maze on a good day. On a strike day? It’s an obstacle course. If not for a generous Italian local who literally ran with us across the station, we never would have made it. Good Karma will find him — I’m sure of it.
We reached Savona before 9:00 AM and set our sights on the 8:55 AM train to Ventimiglia.
In big red capital letters next to our train: CANCELLED.
Ugggh.
Plan B had long since passed. We were somewhere around Plan G.
Outside the station, we found a taxi stand. One driver was willing to take us to Ventimiglia. I showed him the ticket price — €230. When I made it clear we actually needed to get to Monaco, €230 quickly became €280. There was a bit of a language dance around Imperia, Ventimiglia, and France, but he understood the destination.
Quick bathroom stop. Sodas and snacks. Then we were off in a VW taxi driven by someone who may very well be Mario Andretti’s long-lost cousin.
The drive was… energetic.
He zigged and zagged, cussed at trucks, and attacked curves with confidence. Donna pinches my leg when she’s uneasy. The bruises lasted for days. Still, we made it into Monaco in what we’re fairly certain was record time.
Monaco’s streets are unlike anywhere else in the world — and for good reason. The country is built vertically on steep cliffs along the Mediterranean, with roads carved into rock, stacked in layers, and threaded through tunnels and switchbacks. Entire neighborhoods are terraced, reclaimed from the sea, or engineered into the mountainside. The result is a maze of one-way streets, hairpin turns, and roads that feel more like racetracks than city streets — which explains why the Monaco Grand Prix looks less like a race and more like controlled chaos.
Our driver found the drop-off point — or almost did. One-way streets forced him to let us out a few blocks away. I got my bearings, and we started the final walk, stressed, exhausted, dragging our rolling luggage over cobblestones.
Then it happened.
The handle on Donna’s carry-on snapped clean in two.
Perfect timing.
Somehow, we managed. And just when we needed it most, our Airbnb host Andrea was waiting outside the building. We’d been in touch via WhatsApp all along the way. His smile was the soft landing after a very hard day.
We thought the elevator in Milan was small.
The one in Monaco was even smaller.
But we made it up in two journeys.
We had arrived earlier than our original train tickets would have — and in the correct city.
Next on the agenda: dinner… and new luggage for Donna.
#TrainStrike #ItalyRailStrike #MilanToMonaco #TravelChaos #ProblemSolving #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #WhenPlansChange #MadeItAnywayLæs mere
Day 07 Monaco: We Know Walter
29. november, Monaco ⋅ ⛅ 61 °F
Yesterday ended with laundry — the kind of laundry you celebrate after three weeks on the road. Our apartment had only a washer, no dryer, so the room became a full-on Chinese laundry: clothes draped everywhere, a provided drying rack, common in Europe, chairs repurposed as drying racks, and the quiet joy of finally not washing socks in a sink. After surviving the Milan-to-Monaco train-strike saga, clean clothes felt like luxury.
This morning, with energy restored and a plan in place, we set out for the Monte Carlo Casino. The idea was simple: casino first, then either a bus ride or a long wandering walk. In Monaco, nothing is flat, nothing is straight, and everything seems to involve cobblestones and hills — but eventually, we arrived.
For €20, you can enter the casino in the morning while the tables are quiet and the building belongs more to history than high rollers. Photography is allowed in morning when the games are closed, and if you bring your passport, that same ticket also grants re-entry at 2:00 PM, when the games open and fortunes can be made… or donated. Whichever comes first.
The casino itself feels less like a place to gamble and more like a theatrical set waiting for actors. Built in 1863 to help rescue Monaco from financial collapse, and designed by Charles Garnier (yes — that Paris Opera House architect), the interior is Belle Époque excess at its finest: chandeliers, marble, gold leaf, frescoed ceilings, and a quiet hum of history. Even with no cards dealt, the room performs.
We scanned our tickets and entered Section One — let’s call it the general public slot-machine zone. From there we moved into the grand main room with the gambling tables, flanked by restaurants that are very much not priced like Denny’s. And then we stepped into Section Three — the private area.
It was off-season quiet. One other couple wandered through, then left. And that’s when Walter appeared.
Friendly. Calm. Curious.
Donna, as always, asked the kind of thoughtful questions that invite people to talk about themselves — a skill that builds connection even in fleeting moments. Walter shared that he has worked at the Monte Carlo Casino for over 35 years, starting at the bottom and now managing this private gambling salon, with plans to retire in the next couple of years.
He explained you need a €1 million deposit just to gamble here — a story he smiled about, possibly a myth, possibly theater. What is very real are the numbers: minimum bets of €100,000, and it’s not uncommon for €20 million to be on the tables at any given moment.
For reasons we still don’t quite understand — maybe timing, maybe curiosity, maybe Donna’s questions — Walter warmed to us. He paused, smiled, and said,
“I’ll be right back.”
He returned with a set of keys.
Walter opened massive doors leading into what I can only describe as the private-private area. This space turned out to be the center balcony overlooking the famous hairpin turn of the Monaco Grand Prix circuit. He pressed a button, and the enormous glass window silently opened. We stepped out to the railing.
My heart was pounding.
The Monaco Grand Prix is legendary because the city itself is the track — narrow streets, elevation changes, tight corners, and that iconic hairpin turn where cars crawl through at the slowest speed of the race. The circuit was first run in 1929, and it remains one of the most technically demanding races in the world.
And there we were.
Standing in the best seat in Monaco.
Walter casually mentioned, “This is the room JLo uses on race day.”
We sat in the same chairs.
Yes, I took some of the mints from the table.
Walter graciously took photos of us on the balcony and in our new favorite seats. Whatever JLo pays for race day — I’ll double it next season.
Eventually, Walter had to return to work. What he shared with us was pure generosity. He didn’t have to open those doors. He didn’t have to pause his day. Being able to say we stood where JLo, James Bond, and countless others have stood is fun dinner-party material.
But for me?
Seeing that hairpin turn from above — knowing exactly what it represents — that stopped my heart.
We left the casino and walked down to the street itself. Donna pointed upward toward our balcony, already claiming it for the next Grand Prix. Sorry, JLo — Walter knows us now.
Some days are about sights.
Some are about stories.
And some are about people you’ll never forget.
Today, we met Walter.
#Monaco #MonteCarloCasino #WeKnowWalter #MonacoGrandPrix #HairpinTurn #TravelMagic #PaulAndDonna #FindPenguins #JLoLæs mere
Day 07 Walking Around Monaco
29. november, Monaco ⋅ ☀️ 55 °F
After saying good-bye to our new friend Walter at the Monte Carlo Casino, we made our way down toward the Circuit de Monaco hairpin turn. Standing there, curbside, it didn’t take much imagination to hear the scream of Formula 1 engines echoing off the buildings, cars blasting through the Monaco Tunnel and rocketing back into the sunlight. Even just walking on the sidewalk through the tunnel, my senses filled in the rest — the smell of fuel, the vibration in your chest, the controlled chaos. It pulled me right back to Connecticut, nearly twenty years ago, when Donna, Keara, and I were racing ourselves. Different scale, same heartbeat.
Once we emerged from the tunnel and stepped toward the water, Monaco made its next point very clear: this place runs on money. Port Hercule opened up in front of us with yachts that looked more like floating cities. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and we walked hand in hand casually deciding which one we wanted. A little later, near the Palace, Donna spotted the one in a window display — a yacht named Energy. I checked the price. €185,000,000. I’m confident that with Walter’s help we could talk them down. We are not paying more than €150,000,000 for a used yacht. Especially one with only seven guest suites.
We took the pathway up toward the Prince’s Palace of Monaco, passing guards who take their jobs very seriously. From up there, the views stretch across rooftops, the harbor, and the endless blue beyond. Eventually hunger won the debate, and we headed back toward the marina to an Italian restaurant we had noticed earlier. Dinner was wonderful — relaxed, delicious, and exactly what we needed.
That’s also where we met a couple of very charming four-legged locals — Kooikerhondjes. They’re a rare Dutch breed, originally bred in the Netherlands to lure ducks into traps (kooiker literally means duck catcher). Today, they’re known for being affectionate, intelligent companion dogs — and they seem to show up more often in wealthy European enclaves than almost anywhere else, which made Monaco a perfectly believable place to meet them. Donna was smitten. I was outnumbered.
As the sun began to set and the light softened, we made our way back toward our AirBNB — uphill, of course — dragging ourselves up the cobblestone streets. We knew what was coming next: packing, logistics, and the final push of our eight-day mini Amazing Race toward Barcelona. Tomorrow would involve another flight. But for now… wow.
It had been one of those days — full of people, places, and moments that don’t need exaggeration to be unforgettable. Monaco is a place we’ll remember fondly, not just for the glamour and wealth, but for the unexpected kindness, the shared laughter, the walking, the wondering, and the feeling that for one perfect day, we were exactly where we were supposed to be.Læs mere
Day 08 Barcelona: We Made It
30. november, Spanien ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F
Where were you on Sunday morning at 6:25 A.M.?
Donna and I were standing on the quiet streets of Monte Carlo, loading our luggage into an Uber bound for the Nice, France airport. Less than six hours stood between us and completing Leg #2 — Vienna to Barcelona in eight days.
We tried to sleep. We really did. But you know how that goes when you’re worried about missing an early alarm — you wake up every hour on the hour, checking your phone, even though you set three alarms just to be safe.
The night before, everything was already packed. We were in full ready, set, go mode. We even brought some food from the fridge to eat at the airport while waiting for our 10:00 A.M. easyJet flight to Barcelona. Our Uber ride went smoothly, and we arrived at Nice with plenty of time. Knowing the plane would be small, we decided to check our carry-ons. It just felt easier.
So we waited. We snacked. We people-watched.
We were seated in Row 1, seats A & B, right by the door. People streamed past us, and at some point I realized I had taken over 50 photos — just legs, shoes, backpacks. No faces. No identities. I hope someday to print them all and let them live as a quiet story of wonder: Where are they coming from? Where are they going?
While the story of Donna and Paul’s last eight days mattered deeply to us, there were dozens of other stories unfolding on that plane. It felt like the opening scenes of a movie — separate lives, separate histories — all converging in one place. Donna and I got hooked on the TV series Lost years ago, and for a moment it felt a little like that… except spoiler alert: we did not end up on an island pushing a red button.
The flight itself was uneventful. The flight attendants sat in the jump seats directly in front of us, and we chatted a bit. They had just received new uniforms. I’ll admit, I’m a little concerned about non-Velcro neck scarves from a safety standpoint — and the design felt retro in a not-so-good way. Sorry, easyJet. It didn’t quite work for me.
We touched down smoothly in Barcelona and collected our luggage without issue. And then… it happened.
We were expecting our transfer driver to be waiting with a sign that read “Paul & Donna Gruhn.” There were plenty of signs — just not ours. Families reunited. Hugs and kisses exchanged. Lives continued. Within twenty minutes, the terminal was nearly empty. Even the pilots and flight attendants paused on their way out to see if we were okay.
For the record: Donna was not happy at this point.
Finally — about thirty minutes late — a very apologetic older gentleman pulled up in his Mercedes and greeted us. The drive to the Vincci Hotel was smooth and pleasant. He shared stories about the area and recommended a nearby tapas restaurant called Catalana. Perfect timing. Having tapas in Barcelona had long been on my bucket list.
We arrived at the hotel early. Our room wasn’t ready — no surprise — so we left our luggage at the front desk, plugged Catalana into Google Maps, and headed out.
We had an amazing meal. Our waiter helped us choose a great Spanish beer to go with the parade of tapas we tried. I loved tasting a bit of this and a bit of that. I’m officially a tapas fan.
We always love arriving in a new city during daylight. That first walk helps us get our bearings. The architecture was stunning. The streets were alive. And of course — people watching.
Across the street from us, a young couple waited at a crosswalk. The man carried two wicker chairs over his head, price tags still attached. While they waited for the light to change, she slipped underneath what at first glance looked like umbrellas. They shared a kiss right there on a Barcelona street corner. I smiled for them — and managed to capture the moment with a quick click of the shutter.
Sometimes, photographers just get lucky.
Back at the Vincci Hotel, we learned our room had been upgraded — and yes, we love free upgrades. I explored the top floor where breakfast would be served in the morning: modern, elegant, and welcoming. I stepped out onto the balcony and took a few photos of Barcelona at night.
Now it was finally time for bed.
Barcelona in eight days — we made it.
Leg #2 complete.
#TravelMoments
#LearningToSee
#QuietObservations
#OnTheJourney
#SmallStories
#PaulAndDonnaLæs mere
What an Amazing trip it sounds like! [BobValerio]