A Travel Journal
chasing the pins.
The Journey
Places I've been
Bologna
Day one began in a lobby that meant business — a crystal chandelier the size of a small planet, green marble floors, oil paintings framed in dark walnut. The hotel was old-world Bologna done properly: unhurried, a little theatrical, entirely serious about comfort. After checking in we barely made it out before hunger won. Dinner was just around the corner — a quiet restaurant with gold-circle art on the walls, a bread box, and a bottle of Giuseppe Giusti balsamic that deserved its own introduction. The fish came out perfect, drizzled with pomegranate and plated like someone cared. We dipped bread in ta Lia olive oil and decided Day 1 was already worth the flight.
Athens
The Acropolis doesn't reveal itself all at once — it appears in glimpses. Between laundry lines in Monastiraki, above a souvlaki stall in Thissio, from the rooftop of a crumbling neoclassical building where someone had strung fairy lights. I sat on the Areopagus rock at dusk while the marble turned the colour of honey, eating olives from a paper bag, and thought: this city has been refusing to be finished for three thousand years, and it shows no sign of stopping.
