Paris is like the smell of coffee, cigarettes, and a little perfume on someone else's neck.
Prague is wet cobblestones, a little stone, and old wine.
Barcelona is like heat, leather, and almonds.
Istanbul is like spices and the sea, especially at night.
I don't remember the exact addresses or museums. I remember laughing somewhere in a courtyard with wine in my hands. Getting lost in the subway and feeling complete freedom for the first time. Putting on my favorite sweater on a plane because I knew something new was beginning.
Traveling is not about suitcases. It's about feelings.
Sometimes you want to return not to a country, but to yourself—the one you were there with.
Free, easy, without any frills.