We wandered the beaches of Terracina, the Adriatic Sea stretching endlessly beneath a sapphire sky. In Sezze, we toasted deep into the night. Our group split one day for Naples, where pizza margherita arrived piping hot and sublime. We explored the Royal Palace of Naples, its grand Baroque staircase said to have inspired Cinderella’ s slipper story. The city’ s bustling streets smelled of espresso and sea salt, punctuated by sweet pistachio cannoli.
Another day, Florence beckoned with its Renaissance treasures. We browsed leather shops, admired the Duomo’ s terracotta dome dominating the skyline and crossed the medieval Ponte Vecchio lined with jewelers’ windows. We discovered buchette del vino— tiny openings in walls once used by Florentine nobility to discreetly sell wine by the glass. A wine tour through Tuscany’ s rolling hills found us clinking glasses beneath golden light.
Sólfar, or The Sun Voyager, pays homage to Iceland’ s history of sea exploration. tiny glass vials labeled with their origins. These fragments become a tactile map of my journey, a personal ritual blending science and sentiment.
That night, I dined on spelt-battered fish and roasted potatoes, my journal full of local delicacies, overheard conversations and pressed
Gelato in Florence.
In Rome, we raced through Vatican City’ s grandeur, the Coliseum’ s ancient stones, Trevi Fountain’ s cascading waters and the Pantheon’ s massive Corinthian columns. Espresso and gelato fueled our footsteps, and the Spanish Steps offered a sunset embrace. Returning to the villa late that night, Catarina greeted us with surprise tiramisu.
Reykjavik, Iceland
I arrived in Reykjavik to sleet and biting cold, a sharp contrast to Italy’ s sun. After a quick stop for traditional Icelandic wool gloves and a winter coat, I found refuge in a soup house, devouring bowls of lamb and fish stews and striking up conversation with travelers from Canada and Wales. Our group drifted to a library-turned-concert venue, where the music rocked late into the night. The Welsh brothers provided hilarity as they sought out traditional Icelandic whisky known for its distilling process involving smoked sheep dung. Once procured, I passed on the offered warming liquid but enjoyed watching their faces as they downed the drink.
The next morning, I wandered Reykjavik’ s harbor. I admired Hallgrimskirkja church, its soaring concrete spire inspired by basalt lava flows. A pecan roll from Brauð & Co warmed me before I escaped to the Blue Lagoon, soaking for hours in geothermal pools whose milky waters promised healing. The volcanic landscape, with its jagged lava fields and steaming vents, felt otherworldly.
Before leaving, I took a shoreline walk, staring across at the barren landscape. When I travel, I collect small things— sand, gravel, a sliver of rolled sea glass— placing each in leaves from palace gardens and city parks. I passed on fermented shark and sheep’ s head, but I learned to say thank you in Icelandic: takk fyrir.
Home
Seventeen days later, I landed in Pittsburgh, PA, then returned to Charleston. I brought back not just stories but a sense of renewal. It wasn’ t the Eiffel Tower, chocolates, beer halls or even cathedrals that made the trip unforgettable. It was the thrill of waking each morning knowing the world was mine to meet. It was eating alone without apology. It was letting strangers become friends and moments become memories.
If you’ ve ever dreamed of traveling alone, let me offer this: you are more capable, resilient and adaptable than you think. As a woman traveling alone, I’ ve learned that some risks are inherent— like being out very late— but there are ways to stay safe. Traveling solo doesn’ t mean traveling lonely. It means you get to be exactly who you are everywhere you go. •
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