Jet lag. Oh, the joy. It’s like that one pesky friend who tags along uninvited, just as you’re ready to kick off your dream vacation. I’ll never forget the time I landed in Rome, beyond thrilled to start my food tour of a lifetime, only to find myself wide awake at 2 a.m., Googling “is gelato for breakfast a thing?” Spoiler alert: it absolutely is, but that’s a story for another time.
Ever wonder what it’s like to plan an adventure that feels totally your own? For years, I was hopping in and out of my RV across the U.S. and Europe, waking up to new places, new faces, and new adventures almost every morning. Along the way, I learned the magic of crafting a travel plan that felt personalized—less cookie-cutter and more “Miles." Sure, I’d glance at must-see spots, but the heart of my journeys always leaned toward those unpolished gems and moments nobody could have predicted.
Traveling is magical. It’s where we gather stories to tell at dinner parties, explore destinations that feel like dreams, and occasionally, lose all sense of direction in unfamiliar cities. But here’s the thing: no matter how much of a free spirit you think you are, traveling without a plan (or at least the right tools to help you stay semi-organized) can become mildly disastrous at best and outright chaotic at worst. Enter travel apps.
Embarking on a journey often starts with something as mundane yet profoundly pivotal as choosing the right footwear. As someone passionate about exploring the global landscape, my expeditionary toolkit prominently includes the right pair of shoes. Their importance is frequently underestimated, yet holds transformative power in redefining one’s travel experiences. Indeed, every wanderer is perpetually at the brink of discovery, and such is the tale of how my shoe preferences fundamentally transformed my travels.
The first time I landed in Florence in late October, the air was crisp, the Arno shimmered under a gentler sun, and the streets—so often choked in July—felt walkable again. Cafés still buzzed, but with locals reclaiming their seats. Museums had space to breathe, and restaurant tables didn’t demand reservations weeks in advance. It felt like I had unlocked a different Italy, one that existed in between the frenzied energy of summer and the quiet slumber of winter.
The first time I came home from an overseas trip with a mobile bill that could have paid for another flight, I told myself, “Never again.” I was young, dazzled by cobblestone streets and café culture, and far too quick to refresh Instagram every time I found myself in a queue. One blissful week in Paris cost me $468 in roaming fees—which, in hindsight, was a very expensive lesson in the fine print of mobile plans.
Planning the perfect itinerary for a solo adventure can be a delicate balance between excitement and anxiety. Trust me, I've been there—scrolling through travel blogs, obsessing over maps, and second-guessing every decision about where to go, what to do, and how to maximize my time. But let me tell you, once you crack the code, it’s an empowering process that transforms your solo trip into a journey that's entirely yours.
There’s a moment on nearly every long trip when your polished packing list collides with real-world reality. It’s often small: a blister forming halfway through a cobblestoned street, a stomach rebelling against an otherwise unforgettable meal, or a cut that stings more than it should. That’s when the first aid kit—the one you packed out of duty more than conviction—becomes your most valuable travel companion.
Booking a flight can feel like opening Pandora's box. One moment, you're browsing Google Flights with dreams of distant lands, and the next, you're knee-deep in a labyrinth of fare classes, baggage fees, and blackout dates. As someone who spends more time in airports than in their own apartment, I’ve learned a thing or two about navigating the treacherous terrain of economy fares. Trust me, behind those too-good-to-ignore prices are layers of complexities that, if overlooked, could dampen the joy of your adventure.
There’s a moment that hits you just after checking into your solo Airbnb or dropping your backpack in a hostel locker. It’s quiet. Not eerily so—just new. The kind of silence that reminds you: it’s just you now. No dinner plans to coordinate, no consensus-building over which museum to hit next. No one else to consult about splitting dessert (or skipping it in favor of a second glass of wine).
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.
There’s a special kind of fatigue that hits you somewhere between security lines and gate changes, and it has nothing to do with jet lag. It's the subtle drain that creeps in when you're over-caffeinated, under-fed, and running on crumpled receipts and two bites of a stale muffin. Traveling is thrilling, yes. But it’s also an endurance game—and if you're not feeding yourself right, your energy tanks before you even board.