Welcome back to another segment of the big old 365 days abroad. This recap is a little later than usual (sorry!) as we’ve been intentionally taking some time to switch off and relax after a busy week away in the Dolomites.
The last seven days have taken us through the mountains, to Venice, and then onto country number 4 – France! We’ve eaten our body weight in gelato, basked in the sun like lizards and taken more photos of the Alps than my camera roll can bare. It’s a hard life!
- Wednesday 14th June
- Thursday 15th June
- Friday 16th June
- Saturday 17th June
- Sunday 18th June
- Monday 19th June
- Tuesday 20th June
- See you this time next week!
Wednesday 14th June
No trip to the Dolomites would be complete without a visit to (maybe) the most Instagram-famous lake in the world. Lake Braies (or Lago di Braies in Italian and Pragser Wildsee in German) was made ‘Instagram-famous’ a few years ago because of its blue water, mountain reflections and old-fashioned boat house on the shores.
Side note, I’ve found it confusing that all the place names here are in English, Italian and German. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I thought we would be making day trips to Lake Braies and then another to Praser Wildsee, only to later realise they’re the same place.
Language barrier aside, we drove from Dommege di Cadore to Lake Braies this morning at 5:30 am to beat the crowds. Mathew, exhausted (as usual), assumed today’s position of passenger princess and let me loose on the driving. In New Zealand, I consider myself a decent driver. However, the other side of the road is more difficult to navigate than I gave my personal chauffeur credit for. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that today, I have gone around the roundabout thrice, continuously missing my exit.
We arrive at Lake Braies in one piece (thank god) and park by the lakefront. I wish there was more of a walk to the shorefront. I love a bit of a ‘work for your treat’ adventure, but the lake is visible almost immediately. It’s such an “I can’t believe my eyes” moment. I’ve looked at photos of this lake for as long as I can remember, and seeing it in person feels surreal. It’s exactly as I hoped it would be; water dancing lazily in the early morning breeze and the sun kissing the surface of the water. I feel as though I’m living in a dream!
Our early start meant that we were one of the first ones here, and having this place to ourselves was such a treat. It’s a cold morning, so its star jumps to keep warm before tackling the loop of the lake. This easy, relatively flat walk should have taken no more than half an hour. Alas, ‘Little Miss Photographer Wanna-Be’ (AKA: me) feels the need to stop every five seconds to take a photo or a video or just stare at the enormity of the beauty in front of my eyes. Sometimes I feel like I really have to stare at something to take it in, almost as though my eyes can’t believe what’s in front of them, and my brain needs a second to play catch up.
At 8 am, we detour off the track to one of the nearby rifugios. It’s an extra 20-minute walk, but our morning has hardly been strenuous. Plus, I’ve got a new-found thing for rifugios, and Mathew’s still on the hunt for his first taste of alpine apple strudel. Unfortunately, we’ve bitten off more than we can chew, and our 20-minute walk turns into a 40-minute slog one-way up a gravel hill. We arrive at the rifugio (but the mountain shed might be more appropriate) only to find it closed – no apple strudel today. All has not been in vain, however, as we get another sighting of cows with bells before beginning our walk back to Lake Braies.
Our 10 euro parking is valid for three hours, and before the day started, we both unanimously agreed that we would only be here for a short time. We were wrong, however, and three hours passed in the blink of an eye.
Another hike in the bag and another day spent in the most beautiful place on earth. Someone messaged me the other day and asked how often we sit back and stop to realise how incredible it is that we get to travel full-time at the moment. The answer to that is: very often. I spend a lot of my time these days thinking about how unbelievable it is that I get to wake up every morning, plan a whole day of adventure, experience new things, learn different languages AND document it along the way.
Today feels especially reflective; it’s four weeks since we left home.
It feels like we’ve been away for so long, but also no time at all. I like to make sure I have little pockets of peace carved into our itineraries so that we can stop and slow down and soak up the life we get to live now. I wish time would slow down because it feels like the next 12 months will pass in the blink of an eye, and before we know it, we’ll be back home and back to reality. But I like to think we’ll take each day as it comes, and then, who knows what will happen.
So, four weeks away and maybe this is enough time in our new routines for me to share the ten things I’ve learnt travelling in my 20s:
- Communication is key, but this looks different to everyone.
- Leave your comfort zone – that’s when the magic happens.
- You are responsible for your own happiness; life is what you make of it.
- Patience is a virtue.
- Things won’t always go to plan – and that’s okay.
- Slow down; your body and mind will thank you for it.
- Stop the comparison game.
- You’re more capable than you know.
- You probably don’t need that extra pair of leggings.
- If you’re travelling with someone, a partner or a friend, figure out what sort of traveller you are and lean into your strengths.
Check out 9 Things I’ve Learnt Travelling In My 20s for my full-length musings ❤
And with that, it’s time to say farewell to another lovely day. Catch you tomorrow!
Thursday 15th June
Today is the day I’ve been most excited about on our trip to the Dolomites. Tre Cime di Lavaredo.
Our walk started as all good ones do, with big views from the car park – that’s how you know it will be a goodie. There’s just something about walking above the clouds that makes everything feel so heavenly and magical. The sun is shining, birds are singing in the distance, and no other person is in sight – overwhelming gratitude seems to be a theme here.
As we follow the Tre Cime di Lavaredo trail, Mathew and I get talking about all the things that have happened between us over the years and whether we’d go back and tell our younger selves to do anything differently.
Sure, there is advice I’d like to give my younger self:
- Work harder at school.
- Try not to put pressure on yourself to have your plan figured out at 18.
- Don’t let yourself get treated like a doormat by friends (or boyfriends, for that matter).
But I don’t think I would do anything differently. It’s cliche, but I genuinely believe that every turn you make throughout your life leads you to the moment you’re living. And, if you love your life, why would you want to change that? Maybe if I had done things differently, I’d be living an alternate life that I loved, with different career prospects, a great group of friends and a future that I was genuinely looking forward to.
But I wouldn’t turn back the clock. As I get older, my love of life only grows, and I feel so lucky to have someone so bloody lovely to share that with.
On the other hand, Mathew has taken a less philosophical approach and reckons he’d like to have eaten more fruit loops for breakfast as a kid. Good on you, love.
Personally, I’m a porridge kind of girl, but with Mathew’s love of sugary cereal duly noted, we start ascending some steep hills (but nothing Seceda hasn’t prepared us for) before we arrive at Drei Zinnen Hütte for breakfast.
Ham and cheese sandwiches were on the menu, accompanied by the breakfast view I have ever had—big call, I know. One of my best friends, Johanna (hi, if you’re reading this!!!), recommended coming here, and it’s safe to say this place has exceeded my expectations.
Bellies full, we continue walking for another hour or two. We begin a downward climb before scaling back up the opposing hill and arriving at another rifugio. On the way up the hill, we passed an elderly couple cheering each other on as they put one foot in front of the other and walked this enormous track together. They must have been 80 a piece. I love seeing older couples out and about, doing the things they love together. Age is just a number, and getting old is more about how you feel mentally than what your body can physically achieve. I hope one day that, when I’m old and grey, Mathew and I are still travelling and seeing the world together. Wouldn’t that be nice?
As we approach the last rifugio on our hike, we clock that this might be our final chance to indulge in some high-altitude mountain treats and promptly order a slab of chocolate cake to reward our efforts. I must say, the cake isn’t great; a bit dry and not a patch on the ones my Grandma used to make us grandchildren as kids when we would go and visit, but it was accompanied by another bloody good view which more than made up for it.
Our hike ended, and instead of returning to the car, we decided to extend our adventure and tackle the Cadini di Misurina viewpoint track. All the travel blog posts I’ve ever read state the Tre Cime di Laravado track as ‘moderate’ and this track as ‘easy’. Thinking it would be a breeze, we steamrolled to the start, only to be greeted with the world’s most giant, unrelenting hill. Talk about getting rolled into a false sense of security.
I’ve heard many things about the Cadini di Misurina hike. Still, nothing could have prepared me for how sheer the drop is from the side of the path as you walk towards the main viewing point. If you know me, you know I have a pretty significant fear of heights (that I’m trying to tackle!) and this was a challenge for my nerves. As we walked to the end of the track, we were neck and neck with a flock of birds soaring in and out of the clouds. That should give you a good idea of the height!
Once at the end, we took a break for lunch, Mathew took an impromptu nap (this kid seriously can sleep anywhere), and I sat staring at the view in front of us, almost unable to believe my eyes.
As rain clouds rolled over the mountains, it was time to head back to the car and drive home, another glorious day (and 25k steps!!!) in the bag. See you tomorrow ❤
Friday 16th June
This morning started early (as usual) but with a definite sober tone. Today is our last full day in the Dolomites, and to say I’ll miss it here would be an understatement. It’s been nothing short of a breath of fresh air getting to live my DREAM life every day for the last week, and if I could, I’d stay here for a few weeks longer.
Our drive today took us to Passo Tre Croci Pass in Cortina d’Ampezzo and the start of the walk to Lake Sorapis. Lake Sorapis is a beautiful, vibrant blue lake in the middle of the mountains. It gets its colour from glacial sediment suspended in the water. I’ve heard it’s a must-see in the Dolomites, but the walk there is less than friendly. With 5k of uphill in front of us, I kicked my shoes into turbo mode and crossed my fingers, hoping for the best. Mathew, whose life motto is to go along with the flow, has no idea where we’re walking today, so this will be a surprise.
Remember how I said yesterday that the Cadini di Misurina lookout was rated ‘easy’ and felt like walking to the fiery depths of hell? This was the opposite of that. Although technical, this hike was a treat and took us along narrow, sheer walkways, up ladders and over more rocks than I can count.
Once we arrived at the lakeside, we had another “I can’t believe this is real” moment before being snapped back to reality by a gaggle of girls taking photos and shrieking at the results. I’m not sure if there’s much I love more than seeing a group of girlfriends cheering each other on and snapping photos in the wild. The feeling of getting a picture ‘just right’ and cheering is so sweet. Not one to deprive them of their perfect shot, we approach, and I ask if they want me to take a picture of the four of them. They responded by thrusting a DSLR, three phones and a Polaroid camera in my open arms. I can’t say I didn’t ask for it.
Perfect shot achieved; Mathew and I continue our walk around the lake before reaching a rock face. If you’ve read the story “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt”, you’ll know that if they can’t go over it, under it, or around it, they have to go through it. And this situation was much like that story. Except instead of going through it, we were scaling the side of the rock like mountain goats in a “let’s never tell our Mums we did this” kind of reckless fashion.
As I scrambled my way to the top, Mathew beamed at me in a definite “I 100% expected you to bail and am so pleased you didn’t” kind of fashion. I was enormously thankful to have two feet back on solid ground. I’ll add that experience to my list of things I’ve done to conquer my fear of heights; thank you very much.
Adrenaline pumping, we headed back to the car and, on the way, discussed all the things we missed about home. Food and drink were the number one topic of conversation. We’ve concluded that Mathew would spend two days of our travel budget on an ice-cold rum and coke, a plate of deep-fried chips and a BP butter chicken pie. On the other hand, I want nothing more than my own pillow and a plate of sushi larger than my head.
Having made ourselves exceedingly hungry by the thought of deep-fried snacks and Japanese delicacies, we finish our walk, flop down on the ground and unwrap the day’s sandwiches.
And like that, the rest of our day is relatively uneventful. As you’ll know by now, we’ve factored lots of downtime into our schedules whilst we travel, and given we’ve got a go-go-go style weekend, a nap and an afternoon of chill are on the table. Night night.
Saturday 17th June
After a lot of time to chill in the latter half of yesterday, we started the day feeling well-rested. As we drove from the Dolomites to Venice, I silently said goodbye to my new favourite place on earth. I’ve said it before (perhaps more than I mentioned how much I loved Krakow last month), but I’ve loved being in the Dolomites. The Alps were at the top of my bucket list, and it’s safe to say that they exceeded every single one of my expectations. I hope that one day, Mathew and I will get to come back here and explore more. I’d love to do a multi-day hike (and hope we have more $$$ next time to spend on bigger, more extravagant activities, haha).
The drive from Dommege di Cadore to Venice took a little over two hours, and by the end, we were both happy to drop our car off. It’s been brilliant to get around (I wouldn’t recommend coming to the Dolomites without a car), but learning how to drive on the opposite side of the road is enough to tip even the strongest of relationships over the edge.
Car relinquished, we took another extortionately expensive shuttle transfer from Venice airport to Mestre (you’d think there would be public transport, but alas not), where we were to check into our hostel for the night. This hostel (I’ll leave unnamed – let’s call it Prison Cell 1) couldn’t have been more different to the one we stayed at in Lake Como. Where Ostello Bello was warm and inviting, in a great location, with friendly staff and great food, Prison Cell 1 had a cold, judgemental feel as soon as you walked through the doors. Plus, with staff who seemed like they would rather jump off the top floor than check you into your room, we promptly stowed our luggage and fled back out the door.
We only have one night in Venice, but instead of packing our days full of activities and beeling for the downtown canals, we opted for a slower pace of life to recover from our week in the mountains and gear up for an evening of socialising. Staying in a party hostel and playing “Who can spot the first Kiwi” requires a serious game face.
So, after a chilled afternoon full of gelato and wandering down the streets of Mestre, we head back to our room for a shower, head out for dinner (the worlds largest filled prosciutto panino – try one next time you’re in Italy and thank me later!!!) and then back to the hostel to collect our welcome drink.
A few weeks ago I told you that I find the obsession with Aperol Spritz to be an absolute abomination; I have no idea why anyone purposefully spends their hard-earned money on glasses of florescent orange, bitter, lacklustre juice. Now, I’ve got to apologise to all of the Europeans whose culture (Aperol culture, that is) I offended. I’ve also got to zap myself back to a cafe in New Zealand for a flat white to bring me back to my Kiwi roots because our welcome Aperol Spritz wasn’t too bad. I’m not saying I’d willingly pay for one (that might change, though), but there was significantly less grimacing this time around.
Aperol downed, it was onto the prosecco (another thing I could have sworn I despised – perhaps my taste buds are changing) to amp ourselves up for Prison Cell 1’s ‘infamous Saturday night party’ we had been encouraged to join upon check-in. Except the clock struck 10, and no party person was in sight. Hostel-goers littered the common room working remotely, listening to podcasts and recounting the events of their day. But no loud clamouring of bodies, no music and no more than five people in the bar.
So, we took that as a sign, headed to bed, and were greeted by the other dormitory occupants, already tucked in for the night. Perhaps this is topsy-turvey land, and the party means something different in Venice. Oh well – off to bed!
Sunday 18th June
After last night’s excitement, we both woke early and raced down the stairs to breakfast. One of the perks of hostel life is the buffet breakfast. We’re on a mission to spend as little money as possible today, which meant that this morning was spent shovelling food into our mouths like we were competing in the Olympics. Fruit, eggs, Nutella on toast. You name it, we ate it.
I’ve had a few comments from friends and family back home asking what’s happening to our bodies as we travel. Society is funny. I’ve found so much focus is placed on what people look like. Big, small, short, tall. Everyone always talks, and if your physical appearance changes (even slightly), someone will have something to say about it. I’ve had so much intrigue over how much we’re eating, what exercise we’re doing, and if we’re losing or putting on weight. It’s bizarre that we’re off travelling the world, seeing so many amazing things, and all some of our friends back home want to know is whether I’ve lost a few kilos. All I have to say is that (as you can see from my recent breakfast photos) I’m well fed, and how much I weigh now vs back home is none of your business, thank you very much ❤
The lecture and breakfast are complete; we check out of our room and find a comfy corner of the hostel’s lounge to call our best friend, Josh (hi Josh!!!), back home. An essential part of travelling is keeping in touch with your loved ones back home. I’ve known Josh for years, and asides from being the world’s most wonderful friend, he’s also Mathew’s family and the reason we met.
Sometimes, you meet people who charge your social battery rather than drain it. Friends who feel safe and reliable and as though you’ve known them your whole life, even though it’s only been a few years. If you’re lucky, you’ll have people in your life that communicate with you openly and without a filter, pushing you to be the best version of yourself. Friends with whom you have this unspoken connection, so deep and reciprocal that no distance or time apart could ever change the dynamics of your relationship. And sometimes you meet people who feel like home. Josh is all of the above.
Anyone who’s ever had the pleasure of meeting him will also know he’s the world’s best mood booster. So, after a decidedly average evening, an hour of catching up was just what Mathew and I needed. We’ve been go go go recently with very little time to stop between activities and sleeping to feel homesick, but this morning made me realise how much I miss the little things about New Zealand, like our wonderful friends. Side note: we’re both on a mission to convince Josh to come and meet us somewhere in the world next year; I reckon we can twist his arm – watch this space.
Spirits well lifted, we head into town in search of some sunglasses, settle on a semi-fashionable pair from Polaroid (plus, 50% off – score) and tuck into another ice cream. This was the bee’s knees, and ‘almost’ came close to the gelato we had in Florence (I still dream about it).
That evening it was time to head on to our next country, France. We’re staying in Nice and Marseille for two weeks. I couldn’t be more excited to arrive at the beach and have unlimited time swimming, sunbathing and having no agenda. But to get there, we first have to take an overnight bus from Venice to Florence and then from Florence to Nice.
To say that the bus ride was abysmal would be the understatement of the century. I don’t know what Godforsaken person decided that in 28-degree heat, it was legal to turn off the air conditioning, but our bus cooked us like a bloody Christmas turkey. Between Mathew and I, we’re as dramatic as they come. But when your phone sends you ‘iPhone overheating: will resume charging once in a cooler environment’ notifications, children are crying, and the man in front of your seat is fanning himself with his bus receipt, you know it’s hot. I could have cried like the children then, and I could cry now thinking that we’ve got to get on another FlixBus in a week – thank god that one is only two hours. Oh, the things you’ll do to stay within your travel budget.
Monday 19th June
We’re dropped off at Nice airport this morning, tired, scratchy and positively elated to get off our boiling tin can on wheels. We’ve both decided never to catch an overnight bus again (it’s just not worth it) and would rather eat bread and jam for three meals a day than endure 12 hours of chaotic driving and boiling hot heat. At this rate, I think we will have good fun in South East Asia.
It’s 4:50 am as I type this, with five hours ahead of us before we can check into our beachside accommodation, we settle down inside Joe, and the Juice for a coffee and to video call family back home. I’ve not been as homesick as I thought while travelling. I think part of that comes from being busy, and part comes with talking constantly and intentionally making an effort to stay in touch. I’d love to be able to zap myself home now and again: for dinner, family movie night, or just a hug.
Having unlimited access to TikTok and chomping down on a freshly baked croissant seems to have lifted Mathews’s mood, and by the time the clock strikes 9 am, all memory of the night before has been forgotten.
It’s so nice (see what I did there?) to be back in France, but I will miss Italy. I’ve only ever road-tripped through New Zealand (or England as a small child), so getting to see different parts of one country over (almost) a month made it begin to feel very familiar. I’ll miss the food, people, beautiful places and, most of all, getting to say “ciao” to everyone we met. Italy has been a dream, and Mathew and I often talk about returning one day with a bit more money and doing it all again.
Our accommodation in Nice is beautiful – a centrally located apartment five minutes from the beach with big shutter windows and a balcony. So naturally, we unpack our belongings and head down to the pebbly shores for a swim, a sunbath, and to wash off all remnants of the bus ride. I had forgotten how nice it is to walk barefoot and smell the salty sea breeze.
We while away a few hours on the beach before packing our things and going to the supermarket for the week’s supplies. Since leaving Rome, we’ve cooked all of our meals, and if you’ve been following our travels, you’ll know it’s been an almost exclusive diet of pasta, vegetables and cheese. Our hyper-fixation meal could have been anything, but it seemed criminal to settle on anything other than pasta seeing as we were in Italy. I also feel like eating pasta every day is a budget-travellers right of passage. As you can imagine, it’s dirt cheap for the ingredients in Italy, and we had expected the food to be a similar price in France.
Alas, we were cruelly mistaken, and upon taking out a small mortgage for cheese and tinned tomatoes, we left the supermarket and returned to our apartment to catch up on some much-needed rest.
After our obligatory 4 pm daily nap, it was time for another non-negotiable: “first night in a new country cocktails”. Mathew was in charge of planning this night’s outing, however, hadn’t thought to check the menu (rookie mistake). Alas, the happy hour bar 35 minutes on the other side of town doesn’t, in fact, serve 5 euro mojitos. Not wanting to grit our teeth and nock an Aperol Spritz down the hatch, we do a quick Google search and find a buzzy happy hour bar 5 minutes from where we’re staying. The more you know – huh.
Mojitos secured, it’s back home for dinner and to turn in for the night. See you tomorrow!
Tuesday 20th June
This morning was the first day we’ve woken up without our alarms for god knows how long. I can’t remember the last time we slept past 7, but to say it was delicious would be an understatement.
We’ve got no plans on the agenda, so it will be a bit of a boring recap, I’m afraid. The day started as usual, with coffee and breakfast, before we packed our things and trailed down to the beach for another day of baking in the sun.
I’ve always been a big fan of sandy beaches, but I think I might be a newly converted stone-loving girl. You get all the perks of a regular beach day without finding tiny Satan-spawn grains in every crevice of your body. I swear, after every beach day, you find more sand at the bottom of your shower than in the sea.
Another thing about the beaches in France is that almost every woman in sight is topless. It must be the capital of the ‘Free The Nip’ movement, but I must say, it was a bit of a shock to the system yesterday when we arrived to find boobs flying in every which direction. However, by day two, it has become old news. All I can say is good for them and good for their lack of awkward tan lines. I can’t say I’ll be removing MY bikini top any time soon, though.
Sun tan topped up, we made our way to the south side of Promenade des Anglais and up Castle Hill. Castle Hill is a wonderful little park with a great lookout over Nice. You have 180 degree views of the shore and the city, plus a man-made waterfall, cafe, and plenty of shade to relax in. We took our time here and spent a while exploring above the city and then made a friend from Chicago (who had forgotten to bring a drop of sun screen with him – bless).
That evening, we head out for a walk along the waterfront at sunset. Although the sunset didn’t put on a show and light up the sky, it was really nice to get out and explore once the weather was a bit cooler. It’s also the best (and most interesting) time for people-watching; groups of girls are getting ready to hit the town, families are coming back from dinner, and elderly couples are going for an evening walk. Humans are so lovely.
See you this time next week!
And with that, we end another busy, eventful, exciting and all-round bloody wonderful 7 days abroad. Five weeks in, and we’ve really settled into the swing of things and have overcome all of our first week’s jitters! Travelling does funny things to you, but I think we’re both becoming more independent, communicative and confident in our own abilities (and each other!). I’m super excited to see where we are in another few weeks time. See you next week ❤
Notes to Home 