There’s a particular kind of longing that strikes when you’ve been scrolling through sun-drenched Amalfi coastlines, fresh Japanese ryokan breakfasts, or Iceland’s glowing lagoons—and then look at your checking account. It’s not just FOMO. It’s the tug of wanderlust tangled with reality. And it’s deeply human.
There was a time when I used to plan my trips around historical sites, museums, maybe a few “must-see” Instagrammed beaches. Now? I map out third-wave espresso bars, tiny bistros with handwritten menus, and locals-only cafés with a playlist that makes you want to Shazam every third song.
Ah, the blissful art of disappearing—from the mundane, from the ordinary, and sometimes, even from your own thoughts. I remember the first time I’d floated into this European island paradise, half-lost and wholly book-bound with torrid expectations. Little did I know, this speck on the map was about to re-map my understanding of serenity, beauty, and discovery. A trove of secrets, waiting just for those willing to listen.
