Stories of slow roads and encounters.
I travel slowly, by train and on foot, taking the time to tell stories. No top-10 lists here: just honest journals, written on the go, between two stations.
Trieste is best seen when the bora blows, sweeping across Piazza Unità and filling the cafés. I found a melancholy, luminous city, caught between Mitteleuropa and the Adriatic. Coffee is drunk standing up, and literature is still small talk.
Read moreEighteen hours in a sleeper berth, a border crossed at dawn and Turkish coffee in the dining car: the journey starts long before arrival. My tips for actually sleeping — earplugs and a lower berth.
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