Seventeen Days

Somewhere above the Atlantic, between my small hometown of Charleston, WV, and the glittering skyline of Paris, I made peace with the fact that I would be arriving alone but not lonely. Seventeen days stretched before me—17 days of cobblestones and castles, buttery pastries and unfamiliar train platforms. Seventeen days to chase old dreams across new countries.

Paris, France

My flight touched down in Paris at 6 a.m. on a crisp Friday morning. A taxi carried me through quiet streets to the 19th arrondissement, a less tourist-trodden corner of Paris, where I unlocked the door to a ground-floor apartment nestled within a peaceful courtyard. The walls were tall and narrow, adorned with peeling paint and aged stone, and the faint scent of rain-damp limestone mingled with the warm, yeasty aroma wafting from the nearby boulangerie.

Within minutes, I found a small street-side café. Seated on a cold iron chair with a freshly pulled espresso, I watched the world around me awaken—scarves knotted with casual elegance, elderly men lighting cigarettes with practiced flicks and dachshunds trotting loyally beside their owners.

Later, I took the metro to Montmartre. The climb up to Sacré-Cœur was steep but worth every step. The basilica’s gleaming white domes, built from travertine stone that continuously exudes calcite to keep it bright, stood like a beacon against the soft morning light. From the terrace, Paris spilled out in a patchwork of gray and ochre rooftops, the Seine threading through like a shimmering ribbon.

Montmartre’s cobbled streets led me past the historic Moulin de la Galette windmill, a vestige of the area’s rural past immortalized in paintings by Renoir and Toulouse-Lautrec.

At a tiny bistro tucked between art studios, I savored a bowl of French onion soup, its caramelized onions and melted gruyère comforting against the chill morning. A glass of Chardonnay balanced the flavors perfectly. Before returning to my apartment, I stopped at a local grocery to gather essentials—wine from Burgundy, salted French butter, homemade jam, crisp apples, soft pears and a long baguette I tucked under my arm like a bouquet of roses. Dinner was a quiche Lorraine from a nearby bakery, eaten al fresco on the courtyard patio with a glass of ruby-red wine. That first night, alone in Paris, felt like coming home.

At Sainte-Chapelle, built in the 13th century by King Louis IX to house holy relics, sunlight poured through stained glass windows that soared 24 feet high. The kaleidoscope of color bathed the chapel’s slender columns and ribbed vaults in a sacred glow. Later, I climbed the dome of the Pantheon, Paris’s neoclassical mausoleum, where the rotunda’s vast frescoes narrated the nation’s history, and from the lantern above, I was treated to a 360-degree panorama of Paris—the spires of Notre-Dame, the iron lattice of the Eiffel Tower and the sprawling boulevards laid out like arteries of the city.

On my way, I passed the Sorbonne University, one of Europe’s oldest centers of learning. Nearby, the modest laboratory of Marie Curie stood as a quiet testament to scientific brilliance amid the Latin Quarter’s winding alleys. In the Jardin du Luxembourg, I rested beneath towering chestnut trees, savoring a warm Nutella crepe and a café latte while an unexpected gift unfolded—a free orchestra performance of John Williams’ film scores.

At the Louvre, I wandered beyond the crowds and timeless Mona Lisa to the ornate apartments of Napoleon III. Each evening, I returned to my apartment to enjoy a simple dinner of local cheeses, cured meats and crusty bread, paired with wine from a nearby shop.

One radiant morning, I met a Parisian photographer for a one-hour photo shoot beneath the iron arches of the Eiffel Tower. The experience felt both indulgent and empowering—a way to capture not only the city’s beauty but my own evolving confidence as a solo traveler.

Versailles, France

The next day, I boarded a train to Versailles. I stopped in the town’s café for a croissant and hot chocolate before stepping into the grandeur of the palace gardens. Designed by André Le Nôtre in the 17th century, the gardens were a symphony of geometry and nature—immense parterres of manicured hedges, fountains whose water seemed to defy gravity and reflecting pools that mirrored the sprawling chateau. The engineering feat of the hydraulic fountains, pushing water uphill through an intricate system of pumps and reservoirs, was nothing short of miraculous for its time. Though I had toured the palace interior on a previous visit in 2022, this time I discovered the dauphine’s private apartments, delicate rooms filled with pastel hues and soft light.

That evening, I caught a glimpse of Notre-Dame, still shrouded in scaffolding after the devastating 2019 fire. Later, hungry and slightly nervous about dining alone, I found refuge in a small restaurant where the staff greeted me like a cherished guest.

Brussels, Belgium

The Eurostar whisked me away for a whirlwind day trip to Brussels. The Grand Place, a United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization World Heritage site, dazzled with its ornate guildhalls, its gilded spires and baroque façades reflecting centuries of mercantile wealth. I marveled at the town hall’s soaring tower, crowned with a golden statue of Saint Michael, the city’s patron saint. The nearby Cathédrale des Saints Michel et Gudule, with its soaring Gothic arches and stunning stained glass, echoed with centuries of history.

A walking food tour introduced me to Belgium’s holy trinity: silky chocolates from artisanal chocolatiers tucked inside Galerie de la Reine’s vaulted arcades, golden waffles dusted with powdered sugar and crispy fries fried twice for the perfect crunch. The day ended with a flight of local beers.

Loire Valley, France

A day tour transported me to the Loire Valley’s fairytale realm. Château de Chambord stood like a Renaissance dream—its distinctive architecture blending medieval forms with classical Italian motifs. The double-helix staircase, attributed to Leonardo da Vinci, spiraled mysteriously inside the keep, while elaborate rooftop chimneys reached skyward like a forest of stone trees. Château de Chenonceau, spanning the River Cher, appeared almost surreal—a graceful bridge adorned with arched windows and reflected in tranquil waters.

A brief stop in Blois offered the perfect setting for a baguette sandwich lunch, eaten amidst centuries-old stone walls. Later, I joined a group tour of a local vineyard, tasting Sauvignon Blanc under autumn’s golden light. That evening, I dined in Paris with two couples from the tour.

Munich, Germany

From Gare du Nord, I boarded a train to Munich, where the city’s blend of Gothic and Baroque architecture greeted me. My hosts—a local family renting a garden-level apartment in a quiet suburb—welcomed me with homemade cookies and fragrant tea. They offered to accompany me to Oktoberfest if I felt daunted by going alone, a kind offer that eased any nerves.

The next day, a motor coach tour took me to Bavaria’s legendary castles. Schloss Linderhof, the smallest of King Ludwig II’s creations, impressed with its rococo interiors, gilded ceilings and mirrored halls. Schloss Hohenschwangau, the boyhood home of Ludwig II, displayed cozy frescoed rooms telling tales of medieval knights and legends. Then came Neuschwanstein—a towering fairy-tale palace with soaring turrets and intricate stonework, perched on a rocky outcrop overlooking alpine lakes. The autumn air carried the scent of pine and smoke as I munched bratwurst and sipped warm mulled wine. Later, a fellow solo traveler and I shared a Bavarian feast—brathendl (roasted chicken), kartoffelsalat (potato salad) and giant pretzels—in a lively beer hall.

Rain couldn’t dampen my next day’s spirits as I explored Nymphenburg Palace, a sprawling Baroque estate. Its ornate halls boasted frescoed ceilings and golden stucco while outside the gardens stretched like a verdant canvas dotted with lakes, statues and hidden pavilions. Dinner at Görreshof, Munich’s historic tavern, was a comforting ritual—Munich schnitzel, pork back with horseradish-mustard crust and
Augustiner Edelstoff beer.

Then came Oktoberfest at Theresienwiese. Dressed in a traditional dirndl and bolstered by the arrival of a West Virginia friend living abroad, I took my place in the crowded tent. From our reserved balcony table, I watched a sea of lederhosen and dirndls, music booming, faces glowing with joy. By night, we stood on benches, singing “Sweet Caroline” and “Country Roads” with strangers who felt like old friends.

Italy

From Munich, I flew to Rome and joined a group of girlfriends for a week at Villa DiTrapano, a rustic estate in Sezze Romano. The villa’s manager, Catarina, welcomed us with homemade pasta, meatballs, a full Italian spread and chilled wine.

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.

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 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 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.