It happened in Lisbon — although it really could’ve been anywhere. I’d turned down a narrow street on my way to the Miradouro da Graça viewpoint, certain I knew the way. Ten minutes later, I realised I had absolutely no idea where I was. No map.

It makes Romania somehow cozier than can be replicated or even captured on film, it is the hospitality that is not practiced and taught to tourists, but the one that is natural, as the one of a long-lost friend.

I used to think travelling was about where you went. Then I realised it’s mostly about who you go with — or whether you go with anyone at all.

Flying used to wind me right up. Even short flights had me stressed before I'd even left home. Then I developed this little routine that actually works. Starts way before I reach the departure gate.

Dear Italy, I still feel that first punch of heat when I stepped onto the tarmac at Pisa – like walking into a wall of rosemary and petrol.