They say all roads lead to Rome, which is great, because swapping busy city life for a sun-soaked Italian road trip couldn’t be easier. While it would take a lifetime to get to know all of Rome, renting a car online gives visitors complete freedom to see the rest of Italy in all its glory. Whether it’s hiking across craggy coastlines that drop away to brooding seas below, or wandering through color-splashed villages – dotted with blooming flowers – an Italian road trip can offer something for everyone.

There are two main options when setting off from Rome on a road trip – north or south? Starting with the northern option, take the E35 road – which becomes the A1 – and drive up to Florence. After a smooth two and a half hour drive, cutting through emerald green countryside, visitors will arrive at one of the world’s most beautiful cities. This UNESCO World Heritage site is known as the birthplace of renaissance art, and people from across the world flock to see Michelangelo’s Statue of David, which stands defiantly in the Accademia Gallery. Magnificent architecture waits around every corner, with the cathedral providing the highlight – with an incredible, wrinkled façade, and the world’s largest brick dome. Climb to the top for an unbeatable view over the city’s red roofs – the 414 steps also help visitors to burn off excess calories, after overindulging in pasta and dark red Chianti Classico wine.

Reluctantly leaving Florence behind, continue the road trip by driving west to Pisa, where photo opportunities with the Leaning Tower await. By this point, the jaw-dropping Cinque Terre coastline is also within easy reach. Leave the car in the town of La Spezia before hopping on the local train and trundling into the forested mountains that hide the coastline’s five famous towns. Clusters of pastel-colored buildings perch on the Cinque Terre’s stunning cliffs, and the lack of road access lends the isolated towns an authentic feel. Hikers can move between the five towns in around an hour and a half, and feel the spray from turquoise waves crashing against dramatic cliffs as they walk.

Another option is to drive south from Rome, towards the sprawling city of Naples. Sandwiched between the brewing Campi Flegrei volcano and the ominous cone of Mount Vesuvius, the city’s spectacular natural setting is only beaten by its contribution to Italian culture. Wander through the narrow streets of Europe’s largest historical city center – another World Heritage Site – before biting into a slice of simple but stunning margarita pizza, drizzled with freshly pressed olive oil, in the birthplace of the pizza.

Visitors to Naples are also perfectly placed to discover Pompeii’s volcanic history, and can walk through the eerie remains of the Roman town, which was buried under ash in 79 AD. If some sun, sea, and sand appeals, the Amalfi coast is a 30-minute drive away. The town’s crescent shaped beach is an idyllic spot to lie back with a dripping ice cream, and watch as colorful fishing boats bob gently on the water. 

Post by Luke. Thank you so much for contributing to Of Revolt! // Photography Credits: 1 and 2.

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Once famous for its bustling nightlife and crowds of young people flocking to the island every year to party till they drop, Ios has managed to broaden its possibilities over the years. Today Ios smoothly blends joyful days on the beach with lively evening entertainment, along with more chilled-out options for those seeking a relaxing holiday.

 In the main town, Chora, you’ll find buildings of typical Cycladic architecture: winding alleys lined with bars, cafes, and tavernas serving not only Greek but also international cuisines. Chora also boasts a plethora of souvenir and jewelry outlets for some shopping.

Another highlight of Ios are the clean and superb beaches: top-notch Mylopotas beach features the majority of luxury hotels. Once you consider the infamous Ios campground, wild Maganari beach, and the long stretch of soft sand that is Ayia Theodhoti, it’s easy to see that Ios has it all. The island is also extremely popular to snorkelers thanks to its rich seabed, and the diverse landscape makes Ios ideal for hiking though trails nestled in dramatic surroundings.

What to See

Palaiokastro Castle
This Byzantine castle used to be an observation point for the locals to watch over the seaway from Istanbul to Crete. Today visitors can admire the castle’s walls, as well as a historical church dedicated to Virgin Mary. The view from its hilltop location is magnificent as you can even see the many neighboring islands.

Windmills 
The traditional windmills adorn the northwestern part of Chora. Some of them have been restored and are available to visit.

Archaeological Museum of Ios 
The museum displays archaeological exhibits from prehistoricSkarkos settlement, most of which are in excellent condition, as well as ancient Roman relics.

Where to Swim 

The island boasts more than 30 beaches, everything from secluded coves to pebbled shores – and the water is always crystal clear. The most famous is Mylopotas, a wide stretch of sand 2km long (approx. 1.25 miles) with sun beds and parasols for rental. Beach bars and water sports are also available for some extra fun. For more soft sand you can visit Koumpara, Gialos and Ayia Theodoti beaches. Nudists (!) can swim at Kolitsani beach and folks looking for convenient amenities should try Maganari. Other beaches, such as Klima and Pikri Nero are only accessible by sea.

What to Eat

When it comes to food, Ios is mainly famous for its cheese, which is traditionally produced in local dairies. Visitors will find a selection of cheese types, such as skotyri (a spicy aromatic cheese) and xino (a white cream cheese), as well as the more common types of hard yellow cheeses – kefalotyri and graviera. Exceptional fava beans, oregano, and capers are also typical products of Ios. You shouldn’t leave the island without tasting tsimetia (zucchini flowers filled with rice) and mermitzeli (a type of homemade Greek pasta). Though any local meat paired with homemade pasta will do your belly right!

Zoe Mouchritsa lives in Athens and specializes in finding the best and brightest things to do in this lively city and throughout Greece. After completing a B.A. in Applied Informatics and Multimedia in beautiful Crete, she jumped full time into blogging and is now editor for WhiteAndBlue.gr. Thank you so much for contributing to Of Revolt, Zoe!

The post A Guide to Charming Ios Island, Greece appeared first on Of Revolt.

O Christmas tree! O Christmas tree! How lovely are your branches! La la la laa, la la la laa! (Also known as, I don’t know the rest of the words from there on out.)

This year is the first time since 2010 that Dan and I have had our own tree for decorating, and in our excitement, we kind of went all out: it’s an 8-foot balsam evergreen that he schlepped on his shoulder for ten blocks, up a flight of stairs (because why take the elevator?), and into our living room, where it sat only momentarily before yanking the netting off which led to Dan accidentally stabbing himself in the hand with a pair of scissors (it was bloody), thereby earning him the distinction of being the first Christmas Victim, an honor which allows said Victim to wear the fancy Santa hat and choose which Christmas movie we watch while festooning the tree. Dan chose The Original Television Christmas Classics, a very good choice indeed.

In addition to wearing fancy Santa hats and multiple Band-Aids whilst trimming your tree, I recommend donning cozy sweaters, like the ones from Peter Hahn. (Side note: one of the things on my Christmas list this year is a white cable-knit sweater, which Dan has taken to calling “cable thread?” which, hopefully, can be interpreted by some thoughtful and intuitive sales associate. I’ll be sure to report back on the success of this experiment.)

Anyway, this tree is particularly special because during our year in Europe, we made it a point to purchase a Christmas ornament from every city we could. Even though it’s the kind of souvenir we only get to see for a few weeks every year, we loved the hunt in every city (hunts which were, sadly, fruitless during the summer months and thus we have no ornaments from Germany, where we spent so much of our time) and seeing the results on the tree is so much fun.

Cheesy as it sounds, every ornament really does bring me back to the moment we bought it: I can remember the crisp air and the twinkling lights atop Montmarte, where we found our sparkly Eiffel Tower ornament, and the heat of the mulled wine warming my throat as we walked the Christmas market in Budapest, where we found the handmade wreath that spells out Boldog Karacsonyt (“Merry Christmas”). We’ve tried to continue the tradition where we can, so we also have a hand-painted ball from our honeymoon in Mexico, and a pretty glass ornament from our road trip through West Virginia this summer.

Here are a few more of the Coyle family Christmas tree (hereby christened “Martha”) international ornaments:

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So you’re looking for cheap package holidays? Here are a few tried-and-tested tips and tricks to help you find an unforgettable break that won’t break the bank.

For starters, get online and head to all the major tour operators’ websites. Take a look at The Co-Operative Group for instance. Undoubtedly one of the first things you’ll see are price-led campaigns all over the homepage, with glorious images of exotic beaches and oh-so-tempting pools, bearing huge discounts and special offers. Scroll down the page and you’ll see all manners of deals, ranging from all inclusive and city break discounts to sizzling beach special offers – perfect for bargain hunters!

Some of the prices are pretty impressive, and remember that when you select a package holiday through a major tour operator like The Co-Operative Group, your travel essentials are covered too. That includes return flights, nightly accommodation and a transfer service to and from your hotel, along with the services of a locally-based travel representative.

If however you’re not in the market for cheap package holidays and you prefer to go your own way, check out some of the many scheduled flights on offer across Europe and beyond. You could choose your own flights as part of a DIY holiday to dozens of different destinations, like Spain, the Balearics, Greece or Cyprus, and combine it with your own choice of accommodation. That might be a stay in a guest house, a friendly B&B or perhaps a swish hotel.

You don’t have to stay for the traditional week or fortnight – depending on your flight, you could stay for a budget-friendly 3 or 4 nights, or opt for longer and enjoy a 10 or 20-night stay. Why not stay in different hotels throughout your trip to make the most of your experience?

Whatever you fancy, there are stacks of great holiday bargains out there. It’s just a matter of finding your favourite! 

Photography Credit: One. // Guest post by Catherine Lavinia in coordination with The Co-Operative Group. Thanks for contributing to Of Revolt, Catherine!

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So I’ve lately become Pinterest-obsessed. OBSESSED, I tell you. To the point where Dan and I will be sitting on the couch together, marathon-watching whatever TV show we’re currently into (right now it’s American Horror Story. Jessica Lange kills me. Forget Helen Mirren, I want to age into Jessica Lange. The woman is 64 and doesn’t look a day over 42. Those cheekbones! Stunning.), and I’ll be furtively sneaking peeks at my phone, refreshing the page over and over to see the latest pins.

It’s a sickness, and I am not ashamed.

Anyway, one of my favorite topics to search (after squee-inducing baby animals and bitchy SomeECards), is – you guessed it – travel. It’s pretty much the ultimate travel porn site. Lots of pretty pictures of lots of pretty places? SIGN ME UP.

One of my biggest regrets (if you could even really call it that) when it comes to our 2011 tour through Europe was our omission of Spain. Now, I’ve actually been to Barcelona, back in 2005, when my friends and I made a weekend excursion there whilst studying abroad in France. Even just those three days were enough to make me wish we’d had a much, MUCH longer stay. Of course, as broke college students traveling through countries where the exchange rate didn’t favor us, we ended up staying in some cheap, sketchy hostel, though if – ahem, when – I make my grand return to Spain, I’ll definitely choose one from amongst these gorgeous Barcelona hotels.

I’d definitely hit Barcelona again – the wild architecture of the city and the carnival that is Las Ramblas are too fantastic to never see again – though I’d also add in Madrid and Sevilla. More than anything, though, I’m dying to see the Moorish architecture in cities like Cordoba and Granada.

Supposedly a great deal of the beauty of Moorish/Islamic art is based in its sacred geometry – the idea that certain shapes and proportions are particularly meaningful or symbolic. I don’t know much about it, and I don’t think I need to in order to appreciate its inherent worth.

Besides, did you see that recipe for gazpacho? Delicious! (I pinned it twice, for good measure.) (No, I didn’t.) (Help.)

The post Dreaming of Spain appeared first on Of Revolt.

As a unified state, the Kingdom of Italy only emerged in the second half of the 19th century, a fusion of the Latin (Roman) region and the more rural south. The name Italy can be traced back to ancient times, but was originally used by Greek settlers to refer to the southernmost part of the peninsula only. Its heritage is culturally rich, from the rise of the Etruscan, Hellenic, and Roman civilizations in ancient times to the key role Italy placed in the European Renaissance of the late Middle Ages; influential artists Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo left a legacy that continues to attract millions of visitors even today.

Over centuries, Italy has inspired artists, poets, writers and architects: for those looking for more contemporary inspiration, the country is home to some of the most inspiring fashion designers and popular cuisines in the world. With a landscape and a climate like Italy’s, it’s not that hard to see why. Explore this Mediterranean country for yourself and let the muse take you.

Most beautiful places in Italy

The Amalfi Coast is one of Italy’s top tourist destinations and is home to some of the country’s wealthiest, glitziest resorts, including the glorious island of Capri.

The Aeolian Islands are a rugged collection of small, volcanic islands clustered between Naples and Sicily; the largest, Lipari is known for its pumice stone quarry, while Stromboli will strike a chord with Bergman aficionados.

The Italian Lakes region encompasses the lakes Maggiore, Como, Garda and Orta.  The area has been popular for over a century, with elegant spa towns and fin de siècle hotels making the perfect out-of-season retreat. Other towns, such as Torbole, fill up with water sports enthusiasts come high season.

Urbino was once the home of three Renaissance greats – the artists Botticelli, Piero della Francesca and Raphael. A World Heritage Site today, it’s not far from the popular resort of Rimini and affords glorious views from its hilltop location.

The Dolomite Mountains form the Italian range of the Alps.  They are a popular skiing destination in winter and for hiking in summer.

Popular attractions

The canals of Venice have long been synonymous with romance, and Venice attracts millions of tourists every year who travel to this ‘city of love’ for the unique architecture, the atmospheric passageways, the canals and the gondolas. As such, there’s no off-season in Venice: book a hotel well in advance to be sure of a room.

With its many antiquities, including the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and the Castel Sant’Angelo, the ancient city of Rome is one of Italy’s perennial tourist attractions.

Around 2.5 million tourists each year visit Pompeii near Naples.  They come to see the spooky remains of the 1,700 year-old Roman city that was preserved in volcanic ash after the devastating eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD.

The Leaning Tower of Pisa is why most people visit this medieval center of commerce in northern Tuscany; it took more than a century to finish, having begun to sink into its poorly laid foundations shortly after construction began in 1173. It’s possible today to climb the 296 steps to the top of the tower.

Florence is like one vast outdoor museum, so numerous are its artistic and architectural treasures, which are scattered across galleries, churches and museums; Michelangelo’s David continues to leave onlookers in awe 500 years after it was commissioned, while the Uffizi gallery is home to one of the greatest collection of paintings in the world. The city’s beautiful cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore boasts one of the largest domes ever built.

Many visitors come to Tuscany for its beautiful landscape and stunning, well-preserved historic towns, such as Siena, which has managed to retain most of the masterpieces of art and architecture produced in the region’s medieval heyday.

In addition, cities such as Naples, Milan, Genoa, and Bologna are all fascinating settlements with a rich history, wonderful architecture and plenty of shopping and dining possibilities.

Getting to and around Italy

Most visitors from the U.S. and Canada arrive in Italy by plane, and there are numerous airports, including Venice, Rome, Naples, and Milan, that offer international connections. The best prices can be found by taking a little time to google flights to find the best deals. If arriving from other countries in Europe or wishing to tour the region, the state-owned Italian train network Trenitalia is remarkably comprehensive and very reasonably-priced. Hiring a car is also an option for those wishing to see the more remote parts of the country.   

Guest post by Aimee Claire. Thank you so much for contributing to Of Revolt, Aimee!

The post Inspiring Italy appeared first on Of Revolt.

Every year, people from all over the world look forward to a few weeks of vacation. Finding the perfect place to relax, explore, and enjoy your time off can be difficult, as there are a variety of destinations that are ideal for vacation. If you are looking for a beach destination with the rich culture of Europe, Spain is the perfect location. Holidays in Spain will provide excellent food, a great nightlife, and an unforgettable experience. With so many world class resorts, Spain has a plethora of accommodations to choose from – offering something for everyone. Typically, the best way to access the gorgeous European destination is by flying. If you are looking to book a flight online, here a few tips to finding cheap ways to fly to Spain:
Break it Up 

Many online search sites for airline tickets provide the most direct route. While for some travelers this is a convenient way to fly, it isn’t always the cheapest. Instead of searching for a long haul flight from your home directly to Spain, try breaking it up into segments. If you are traveling from the U.S. to Europe, flights usually cost thousands of dollars. However, if you do a stop-over in a city that offers many daily flights to Europe – like New York City – you may be able to save a couple hundred dollars. With a few hundred dollars in savings, you can enjoy shopping, eating out, and exploring Spain a little more.

Look for Deals to Nearby Cities

While the city you want to visit in Spain may not be having an airfare sale, other nearby cities might. Just like in the U.S., there are many discount airlines operating in Europe. You can often find fares as low as $25 each way from one European city to another with carriers such as Ryan Air, Wizz Air, Easy Jet, and other discount airlines. If you see an incredibly low fare from your destination to a European city like London, Paris, or Berlin, you could potentially save hundreds of dollars by purchasing a long haul flight and then purchasing a discount airline hopper flight to get to Spain. Finding cheap airfare will make your holiday that much more enjoyable. Save money on the flight, and enjoy your resort holidays in Spain even more!

Photography Credits: One and Two. // Guest post by Maria-Christina Rus. Thank you so much for contributing to Of Revolt, Maria-Christina!

The post Tips for a Cheap Flight to Spain appeared first on Of Revolt.

This is a story from our time in Europe, and it’s a true story, and it came in parts. This is the last part of four. To read part one, click here. To read part two, click here. To read part three, click here. Thanks for reading.

A very old man stood in front of the factory dragging on a cigarette.

“Do you think he’s some type of guard or something?”“You think they’d hire a guard that old?”“What do you think, he’s homeless?”

We didn’t know what to think and, lacking in thoughts, decided to act instead.

We approached and from a few steps back I could see him bristle, as though the mere sight of us offended him. Perhaps we seemed strange, two young people sweating and heaving as we were, dragging our possessions behind us, clearly unaware of where we were or where we were going and yet advancing at a rapid pace. Once we’d neared, I was grateful to see an almost grandfatherly worry flit by his face as he took in our bedraggled state. For a moment I hoped he’d give us directions out of this – park, was it? Factory campus? This dense wood? It was impossible to tell what and where exactly we were – but instead his eyes hardened and he rebuked us in Polish. When we asked “English?” the old man shook his head, made a long, slow circle in the air with his index finger, and pointed for us to go. We took our leave with a solemn nod, dragged our suitcases away, and reentered the darkness.
“It’s dangerous here. Especially if even he thinks we should go.” Every exhale shortened and sped up, the air suddenly tight in my throat.“I know. I don’t know what to do.” Dan looked down at me and I could see he meant it.“Goddamn it. Pick up your shit, let’s go.”

I hustled away from the factory and charged down the same dark path we’d stepped away from just a few moments ago. Our “conversation” with the old man was the same as all the others we’d had over the last week: subtly antagonistic, the sort of unfriendliness that could barely be classified as such because neither party explicitly broke through the veneer of courteousness. I longed for a clearer message; even open hostility would be better, less confusing. It was as though a thin membrane separated us from the Polish, fine enough to be penetrated by distress, yet opaque enough to obscure human fellowship. We were more than foreign; we existed on different planes.

            We walked for so long that it got to the point where I couldn’t believe we were still walking. The path had narrowed considerably and we walked tightly together, taking turns being the lead. Tall chain-link fence rose up on either side of us, though what lay beyond the fence was mostly hidden, concealed in darkness and further hidden by the occasional spindly tree. Above the thicket I could see a few roofs standing no higher than eight or ten feet in the air, covering what seemed to be one-room houses lacking in electricity and, probably, plumbing. They reminded me of the tin-roof chanteys I’d driven by years ago in Jamaica, on the road to a resort in Negril. Even then it didn’t seem enough to merely witness the ghetto, and yet now, hurrying through it, I was acutely aware of the part of me that wished not to be spectator, lacking the words and the analysis with which to testify. Mostly, I was afraid.

We walked straight into the mouth of darkness, following a dirt path that sprung up in tessellated blooms of a gray dust that settled on our shoes, colonized the space underneath our fingernails, and left a metallic grit in the lines of our palms.

I wanted a cigarette but worried that the smoke would bring unwanted attention from the shacks that lay beyond, a needless exposure of our presence that seemed better left unknown. Even stopping to light the thing seemed like a waste of the time that ought to be spent continuing onward; any forward movement was progress.

I heard footsteps behind me, long and heavy like the trail of an echo, and when a match was struck I knew it wasn’t something I’d imagined: we were being followed.
            Dan was just a few paces ahead of me. I stretched out each stride, making every step a little longer than was comfortable, trying to catch up to his side without hurrying and possibly alarming this stranger. It took a good minute before I was able to walk beside him and say,            

“There’s someone behind us.”
            He turned to look. The man was tall, lean. He smoked his cigarette casually, clearly acquainted with his whereabouts and in no way disturbed by our presence.

 “Get in front of me,” Dan said, and I did.

We walked this way for a few minutes – me, followed by Dan, followed by the stranger – and when I turned to look back I saw that a car had rolled up and was crawling along just behind the man.  For a moment I marveled at the driver’s capabilities on this tiny dark path, moving a giant white beast of a vehicle (a leftover from the Seventies, a drug lord’s idea of classy) so silently that if I hadn’t seen it, I would have never known it was there.

“He’s not using headlights,” I realized, and somehow speaking the words aloud detonated a constellation of fear within me, filaments of terror tumbling about in the black pit of my stomach.

I watched Dan turn to look. The car stopped and the man paused next to it. The driver passed something out of his window; it was silver and metal, maybe a gun. I was too far away and too horrified to be sure of anything I saw and had seen.

“Keep walking, move faster,” Dan instructed. “If things become violent, I will engage the attacker and you will release the luggage and run. Try to find a main road; it will be easier to get help.”

I nodded; I understood. Engage the attacker. Release the luggage. I had never heard him talk that way, perversely verbal, as though the acuteness of our fear lit up some special mental clarity within.

Our pace quickened to just short of a jog; the heaviness of our suitcases rumbled over the gravel. An ecstatic burst of adrenaline surged through me, and I could feel where my shoulder would ache in the morning if we made it through this march. I decided we would live.

The car was so close I could feel the heat of the engine warming the air behind us. The voices of the stranger and the driver ground through me like teeth gnawing on bone. One of them laughed loudly. Particles of ether buzzed around us; my body shook and we waited for something to happen.
The path was suddenly bright white. Dan and I turned to find ourselves squinting in the headlights. The man stepped around the front of the car, got in on the passenger side, and slammed the door shut with a resounding thunderclap of sound. The engine revved and they drove right up to us, inches away from our ankles, and made a right turn we didn’t know was there. And just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone.
 

A breeze sifted the leaves of the trees, cooling the sweat on my brow. I looked at Dan, who blinked hard and smiled. We returned to the path, which seemed to widen with their departure. Within minutes, we came to the edge of the trees and where the trees ended, a road began. A proper road made of concrete, with streetlights and dozens of cars rushing along on it. A young woman stood at a bus stop and we asked her if she spoke English and if she knew the street we were looking for, and she did speak it and she did know and she went so far as to walk us up to the corner to point out the direction we should follow past a five-pointed intersection.

We made our way past a series of rather institutional-looking apartment buildings and stopped in front of A.’s address, a clean, new construction. We buzzed her apartment number and she let us in.

We heaved our suitcases up three flights and stood at her door, poised to knock, when she opened it, sweet-faced and smiling. “Hello,” she said and ushered us into her living room, sat us down on a long leather couch, and put beers in our hands without asking if we wanted them, which of course we did.

She asked how our trip had been so far and whether it was easy to find her place. We told her of the cities we’d been to and offered an abbreviated version of our trek from the hostel. When we spoke of the sad, one-room houses we’d seen, she said,“Oh, people don’t live there. Those are, uh” – here she struggled to find a word in English – “the places for gardening? They put their tools and things in there, and plant vegetables and flowers in the ground in front of it.”

“Sheds? They’re sheds.” I stared.“Yes, people rent some land for the year to grow their own food if they like.”“I see. That sounds like a nice program,” I said.“It is! So you were worried for nothing,” she laughed.
We laughed.

“I’ve just been watching a show on the history of democracy,” she continued. “Do you know what country had the very first constitution?”
I looked at Dan, who was quickly draining the last sips of beer from his bottle. “Poland?” I ventured.
            “Hah, no. It was the United States, of course. We had the second constitution, though,” she said proudly.                    

And I realized then that I am full of not knowing.

The post Wroclaw, Poland: The Little You Know of Yourself // Part IV appeared first on Of Revolt.

This is a story from our time in Europe, and it’s a true story, and it’s coming in parts. This is part three, probably of four. To read part one, click here. To read part two, click here. 

Days passed. We got sick to our stomachs, stopped drinking the water, drank mostly beer instead. We ate a lot of ramen, the hostel’s “fully equipped kitchen” limited to a sink, microwave, and some mismatched flatware that was hoarded by ourselves and other guests.

We checked out of the Avantgarde with an hour before sunset. The day was still warm and we were loaded with suitcases. We had decided to walk to A.’s, the friend of a friend who had agreed to host us and who was also throwing a house concert that Dan would perform in. The walk would be forty-five minutes, we calculated, and from our map it seemed that most of it passed through a park. We looked forward to short breaks under the trees.

Dan led the way out of city center; his height and slight puff of curl at the crown of his head making him easy to follow in the crowd, though my aptitude with maps usually results in me being the guide.

There’s more to notice when you’re being led rather than leading. Details pop out of the picture and make themselves available for consideration. The sky opens up when you’re not looking at street signs. Tops of buildings have color; church steeples and chimneys and air have geometry. We paused at a curb for the light to change, and a small group of children monkeyed around on a series of statues depicting a man melting into the sidewalk, grim-faced before the transformation even began.
Streets were hacked up and construction tape obstructed our crossings more and more frequently as we exited the center. By the time we reached the park, the sun had mostly set and despite a few streetlights scattered around the perimeter, none lit the interior.

“Should we take a bus the rest of the way?” I wondered aloud.“How would we know what bus to take?”“We could try asking someone.”“Let’s just keep going; it can’t be that much longer.”

We walked side by side through the park, passing a bruised and mealy apple back and forth that one of us eventually got fed up with and threw into a bush. The wide concrete paths were a pleasant change after dragging our luggage through so much torn up cobblestone. A few joggers and bicyclists passed by, as well as one young mother pushing a stroller and talking loudly on her phone.

We didn’t talk a lot during the walk, having learned in the last nine months of traveling – a time during which we’d literally spent every minute in each other’s company – that silence was both necessary and appreciated. The other’s mere physical presence was comfort enough to quietly draw back inside our minds and hover there, detached from body and suspended in time, save for the rhythmic click of leather soles on the pavement denoting that seconds and even whole minutes were passing as we made our way to a there that was changing all the time.

            And then, the road ended.           
           The smooth concrete dropped suddenly off a 3-inch ledge that rattled our suitcases and the bones in my wrist. Three dirt pathways stretched out in front of us, invisible only 10 paces back thanks to the immense, encompassing darkness.

            We consulted our technology. The phone, still halfway charged, lost whatever satellite signal it usually picked up on, and the blue dot that was us expanded and contracted, then hovered in a meaningless gray grid. I unfolded the city map and the phone was instantly reduced to a barely serviceable flashlight.
            “The map ended.”            
“What do you mean?”           
 “I mean that this map doesn’t extend past the neighborhoods surrounding the city center. It only has the beginning of this park here at the top. Here, look,” I pointed, and Dan leaned in a little closer.            
“Okay,” he said, drawing the last syllable out long until it trailed off, falling away from his lips like a pebble down a cliff.            
“I think we should either make a left and see if we can’t go around the edge of the park on the sidewalk or just continue straight. When I looked at the map online it seemed like we were supposed to go straight the whole way through.”            
“The only thing with making the turn is it might take us a long time—”         “You do realize that this supposedly 40-minute walk has already turned into an hour and twenty minute extravaganza, right?” I could tell even in the dark that he was raising his eyebrows in silent disapproval of my frustration. “Sorry,” I added.

            “Look, let’s just keep going straight and see what happens.” He hiked the backpack a little higher on his shoulders and picked his guitar up from where he’d set it gently in the dirt. I readjusted my purse, gripped Spike’s handle, and started walking.
Pulling a suitcase along a dirt path is work enough already; dragging it on plastic, wheel-less stumps requires a near Herculean effort. Despite the cool air, beads of sweat formed around my hairline. It might as well have been a body.
“This thing might as well be a dead body,” I huffed to Dan, who let out a short laugh and returned quickly to silence.

Time passed and it no longer mattered, minutes being less scarce and somehow easier to come by here in Poland than in New York. Each moment in the darkness seemed to swell and stretch until it resembled the murkiness of time in childhood, sifting through and trying to make sense of a hundred disparate sensations for no reason other than it seemed like a thing that must be done.

I started counting my steps and decided that was horribly boring. I thought of other places I’d rather be and how miserably short and wet the summer had been, how bad weather had chased us across the continent. I felt blisters form on the bridge of my palm and ignored them.

Dan caught sight of an orange light flickering between the trees that he hoped aloud would be a major intersection up ahead. For a few minutes, following it was enough for us to feel good, buoyed by what we’d been told over and over was our natural American optimism. It was short-lived. The disappointment we felt when it wasn’t from streetlamps but rather an empty factory surrounded in barbed wire, bathing in its own chemical glow was nothing short of painful. I swallowed hard, tamping down the belief that the last few days of illness, the persistent unfriendliness we’d encountered, and the physical and aesthetic coldness of our strange room at the Avantgarde were merely components to the story that would later be “our Polish adventure” might instead be portents of this rather darker reality that we currently faced. 

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