Paying homage to my favorite places, until I can visit them again
There is an indescribable joy in being able to travel the world. With the most travelling I’ve done in the past couple of months being from my bedroom to my kitchen and back, I’ve had a lot of time to look back on past trips and photographs and reminisce about my favorite places. Though I love and appreciate something about every city and country I’ve visited, some places ignited a spark in me that lingers to this day, refusing to be extinguished. So, without further ado, let this trip down memory lane (and around the world) commence.
This dreamy pastry shop in Alexandria, Egypt
There’s just something about sitting in an Alexandrian pastry shop, eating a cinnamon bun, and looking out on buildings that reflect a history that can only be imagined while a soft sea breeze caresses your face that I just can’t put into words—but I’ll try, nonetheless. Sitting outside this shop, I couldn’t help but marvel at my surroundings, grappling with the fact that a million lives had passed through these very streets, and at some point, had watched these buildings rise from the ground, the greatness of which made my worries and problems seem so minuscule.
Inside the shop, at the back, there’s a room to the side so inconspicuous you’d have probably missed it if a waiter hadn’t pointed it out to you. Walking inside feels like stepping into a time machine. Suddenly, I was transported back to what my parents and grandparents would call “the good old days.” A room full of memorabilia from a time I can only see in my imagination or black-and-white movies. And they say time travel isn’t possible.
The Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, France
I’m pretty sure I had my dark academia awakening walking the long-winding paths of this cemetery. There’s nothing quite like taking a walk in a cemetery (a French one, at that) in the dead of winter, with Lorde’s Melodrama playing softly through your earphones. Each gravestone had a story to tell, beckoning to the living with their marvelous sculptures of eternal beauty. If you’re lucky, a black cat or two will gladly keep you company, guiding you through the nooks and crannies seeking your arrival.
And if you listen closely, you’ll hear the sound of greatness pulling you forth till you reach the grave of one Oscar Wilde. I breathed in the crisp winter air in an attempt to bottle it all up, to preserve this feeling of pure, unadulterated ecstasy in the form of the realization of our grand insignificance, and I exhaled, letting it all go. In that moment, time stood still, and I heard the sound of eternal peace.
A little park somewhere in Budapest, Hungary
Do you ever walk into a place and think: I’m in a Disney movie right now? This is what being in that park felt like. This quaint little park surrounded by shops, apartments, and a school just felt entirely out of place, like it was dropped there when people weren’t paying attention and somehow managed to convince them it had been there all along. As the church bells tolled and the bees buzzed, filling the air with a demanding stamina, I almost expected the flowers to start humming along, serenading me with their sweet scents.
Everything was in perfect harmony; it felt magical. I remember going to this park with some friends and for the while we were there, it was as if nothing else in the world existed but us and the park. You cannot convince me this lamppost doesn’t scream Disney. Just looking at it, I can feel its pulsating energy vibrating through the park, like it’s the beating heart keeping it alive. In this park, I felt nature speak to me, I felt ethereal, I felt free.
A random Lighthouse on Prince Edward Island, Canada
This lighthouse probably wouldn’t have meant this much to me if this sign hadn’t been propped right in front of it. (Probably why I don’t have any pictures of the actual lighthouse, nor do I remember its exact location.) As someone who has a petrifying fear of heights, I didn’t find lighthouses particularly thrilling—until I saw this sign. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m an English major, but I couldn’t help but overthink the meaning behind it. (Also, I had just read Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse for one of my English classes and now had a new, albeit depressing, outlook on lighthouses, but I digress.) There was something ominous yet mystifying about this sign, like all of the answers to the world’s questions were held up in this small yet sturdy placard. Standing there, with the ocean-fueled winds blowing my hair into my face and the seagulls cawing a spine-chilling melody, it did feel like the end of the world was indeed here.
And that’s it. These are the places that bring me the most joy, the ones that were eager to tell me their stories—and patient enough to listen to mine. These are the places that helped me find myself, whether it was through ruins that told the tale of a history long gone, a display of magical calmness, or an ominous sign, whose meaning I probably overstated. All of these places will forever hold a special place in my heart, which is why I made sure to leave a piece of my heart in each of them for safekeeping until I can go back and pick the pieces up again. Until then, I have the memories and photographs to remind me of a time past and, more importantly, to assure me of the promise of a time that’s still to come.
