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  • Redefining Me – My first trip to Togo

    Now you see me, now you don’t

    I kinda, sorta disappeared. Where was I? Living life. Actually, more like existing. I didn’t do anything exciting. Kept working, kept applying for other jobs, and kept getting rejection. So, you know… typical going-through-the-motions stuff.

    But I’m back—by popular demand (not). I took another trip, one that had been long overdue, one I could previously only dream about.

    I finally discovered my roots. I went to Togo. And this time, I interrupted my regularly scheduled solo trip to embark on this journey with my partner.

    Finding Togo

    Not sure where Togo is? Let me help you.

    Togo is a West African country bordering Burkina Faso, Benin, and one of the more popular West African countries, Ghana. The country itself is really small, with its coastline and width only stretching 52 km. But it has a lot to offer—from beautiful golden beaches in the south, to the mesmerizing waterfalls in Kpalimé, to elephants that can be found in the north.

    Togo is technically a jack of all trades when it comes to landscapes, having everything that any backpacker or regular tourist desires.

    Created by ChatGPT

    A Home I Never Experienced

    But for me, Togo was more than that. It was home I had never experienced. A home that I never breathed in or truly looked at. I had family there—siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. But all I knew about Togo was wrapped up in the tales of my father and mother.

    Stories of how my mom, basically aged 12, slept at burial sites. How my father had worked at Foyer des Marines. How my cousins became mothers or fathers.

    My personal story started in 1998, when my mom gave birth to me shortly after joining my father in Germany in December 1997. I could only ever imagine what the mysterious country my family called home could offer. I was always interested because my mom ran a very Togolese household.

    We ate Tapioca Zugbon (porridge made from ground manioc), Akoumé (a cornmeal dish), or the very popular Fufu (made from manioc, plantain, or yam). I remember the trips my parents made each month, buying half of Strasbourg, so we could continue living very Togolese lives.

    The Journey Begins

    After a lot of back and forth… a lot of tears… and lots of money, I awoke at 3 a.m. CET to be transported to Frankfurt Airport. Next stop: Lomé, Togo. Well, technically Brussels first, but eventually Togo.

    We touched down in Togo at 6 p.m. The immigration process was smooth, and after a small wait, I had my baggage. After a short stroll, I embraced my cousins.

    For the first time, I couldn’t believe it. I was finally standing where the story of my family began. Keep tuned for more about my journey and the stories I discovered along the way!

    Happy Holidays and a happy new year!

    Picture of Togo’s parliament located in Lome (capital)

  • Zurich: The Trip that gave me Covid Part III

    Hi there, long time no see. Life has been a bit awkward, so let’s jump right in.

    I spent the rest of the day with pizza, wine, and my own company, enjoying the likes of Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan. I was unshowered, a little unhappy, and perfectly content to do absolutely nothing.

    Then the chaos began.

    I heard commotion outside my hotel room — people laughing, doors slamming — and then it happened: music blaring through the lobby speakers. I prayed silently that it wouldn’t last all night. My prayers went unanswered.

    The party raged on: 10 pm, 11 pm, midnight, 1 am. I had even put a stool in front of my door to keep strangers from mistaking my room for the restroom. And sure enough… someone did. I nearly lost it. I do not handle sleeplessness well.

    Frustrated, I tried contacting hotel staff. I wrote to Booking.com and the hotel itself. I was furious — I felt my inner Black Karen taking over. At some point, I even broke a wine glass accidentally. Of course, I mentioned it to the hotel, asking them to subtract it from my reimbursement. They said no.

    Finally, the party ended around 1 am. I managed four hours of sleep before heading to the Flixbus station. Exhausted but oddly relieved, I slept most of the ride home.

    And then, the plot twist: Tuesday morning hit me with a heavy chest and exhaustion.

    I had Covid.

    • The END.
    • Next up is going to be my trip to Lake Thun in Switzerland

  • Zurich Part II: The Trip that gave me Covid

    I woke the next morning unshowered, unrested, and unpleasantly surprised. The first sound I heard wasn’t birdsong or silence, but the hairdresser’s radio next door—blaring at maximum volume. My skin felt sticky and tired, and without my ritual shower, I was already off to a rough start.

    I did what I could: washed my face, brushed my teeth, tried the shower (still broken), and got dressed. Adventure called. With Maps guiding me—badly, as it turned out—I zigzagged across streets and sidewalks until I gave up and followed the street signs instead.

    My first stop: Frauenmünster (Women’s Minster).

    Women’s Minster in Zurich

    From there, I crossed over to Zurich’s other famous church, the Grossmünster (Great Minster). I didn’t go inside, because my eyes (and feet) were already set on Lake Zurich.

    Great Minster

    And here’s where honesty kicks in: Lake Zurich was… underwhelming. Maybe it was me, maybe it was the season (fall edging toward winter), or maybe Zurich just wasn’t vibing with me that day. So many people rave about the city, but sometimes what sparkles for others feels flat to you.

    Still, I walked along the lake, soaking in the grayness, when—serendipity!—I ran into the same American friends I’d met at the kebab place the night before. A nice reminder that travel is as much about people as places.

    Lake Zurich

    Eventually, I lined up for a boat ride. Mistake number one: not checking the schedule. I stood in the cold for 20 minutes before learning (thanks to a kind stranger) that I could just buy the ticket onboard. Mistake number two: assuming I’d find a seat inside. The boat was packed, so I braved the outside deck in Zurich’s biting 3–8°C weather. For someone who thrives in summer, I was miserable. By the halfway point, my fingers had turned white-yellow from the cold. The view? Pretty enough, but I was more relieved than anything when the ride ended.

    Back at the hotel, I gave myself the gift of comfort: a supermarket pizza, some fruit, a little wine, and later a tarte flambée. I tucked it all into the mini-fridge, curled up, and spent the evening with TV instead of tourist attractions.

    Sometimes travel is adventure. Sometimes it’s surrender. This day was a little of both.

    View from the boat – Lake Zurich

    This is it for now. Part 3 coming soon.

  • Zurich Part 1— The Trip that gave me Covid

    Lake Zurich

    Zurich. The renowned Swiss city. Harbor of banks, restaurants, and many very expensive clothing brands. Yeah, expensive even in the Swiss sense.

    Switzerland is a pristine country, known for its beautiful mountain ranges, picturesque lakes, and an overall unbelievably magnificent landscape.

    So many people had been recommending the city to me, saying Zurich was the city to visit in Switzerland. I had wanted to do this trip for such a long time, but life kept getting in the way.

    I finally made it happen in November of last year. I booked the Flixbus, booked the hotel room. I was happy. Emphasis on was.

    I boarded the Flixbus and off we went. I snuggled in, sitting next to a nice Asian lady who, unfortunately for me, hogged the USB ports for charging. To my right, a guy was regularly coughing—the kind of cough where you think he might not make it through the ride.

    I chilled regardless and put on one of my favorite shows, Reasonable Doubt. The second season had just come out, and I loved the first one. Michael Ealy and Emayatzy Corinealdi are both draws and very physically beautiful people. Plus, they can actually act.

    Season two—no Michael Ealy. But they got the one and only Morris Chestnut. What a man, what an actor. Even more motivation to watch, because I wanted to see what kind of character he would play and how they would introduce him.

    What was supposed to be a five-hour trip ended up being an eight-hour ordeal. And the guy was still coughing like he had the Plague.

    After eight hours, we finally arrived in Zurich. But it wasn’t what I expected. I kinda didn’t like it. I made my way from the bus station to the nearest tram stop, bought a ticket, and headed toward the tram station closest to my hotel. I checked in. The hotel was Visionapartments Brandschekenstrasse Zurich.

    Never again. My room was on the ground floor, right next to a hairdresser, which I didn’t know at the time but soon found out. The room looked fine, but then panic set in—I couldn’t find my wallet. WHERE WAS MY WALLET? I was so sure I had taken it with me, but suddenly horror scenarios flashed before my eyes. Had I left it in the tram? The Flixbus? How would I cross the border back to Germany?

    I left the room, looked outside, even checked in front of the hotel. Got back to my room and—you know it—it was there the whole time. Under my bag.

    Take two. I made my way to a kebap place, picked out what to eat, and noticed some American tourists struggling with the menu. Since they didn’t know German, I interpreted the menu for them and said a quick goodbye once they ordered. I love these quick interactions and always wonder how people’s lives go on afterward.

    Back at the hotel, kebap in hand, all I wanted was a warm shower to revitalize. I went into the bathroom, turned the handle… and nothing. No water, nothing.

    I was so sad. For me, that’s the only thing that brings me down after a long day. Great—no shower. I didn’t even know what to do, so I put something comfy on and went to bed.

    I turned on the TV and snuggled into my covers…

    Lovely trip so far, right? Please leave a comment—has this ever happened to you?

  • When Birthdays Don’t Feel Magical Anymore

    Sunset – Chania Old Harbor

    27 years ago, I „blessed“ this world with my presence. 27 — not yet old, no longer really young. And I felt it.

    Birthdays stopped being magical for me a long time ago. I was thrust into the reality of life when I was 6 and my father got sick. Gone were the faint memories of presents and cake. In their place, the door opened for mental health issues, financial woes, and many suffocating crying sessions, both at my parents’ house as well as in my very own first apartments.

    This year, unfortunately, was no different. It started on August 15th. I felt overwhelmed, tired, exhausted — and very much done. I started reflecting: what have I accomplished so far? Based on all the experiences, the hurdles I jumped, the tears I wiped away, and the birthdays celebrated… was I there?

    It didn’t feel like it. It didn’t feel like I would ever reach there.

    I had read Meg Jay’s book once, The Defining Decade1. I knew that even clinicians don’t believe your twenties are the time of your life. But still, I felt… like I lacked.

    Lacked knowledge.
    Lacked guidance.
    Lacked grace.
    Lacked happiness.

    I don’t like myself — my weight, my thought process, my mental health issues, my job, and, lastly, the point I am at in my life currently. I wished I did.

    I look at Instagram, Reddit, LinkedIn, and other social platforms, and every post, every picture, every caption seems to solidify these thoughts.

    All of this culminated in tears — on my birthday.
    A day I should be thankful for.
    Not only for being given life, but for all the blessings I already have: family, friends, a roof over my head, food, life itself.

    But is that all I am meant to do on earth?

    Is this it?
    And if it is… shouldn’t I be as content as possible?

    I don’t know. The day I was supposed to be happy about was the day I felt like I had wasted it all. And as the sun set for another day, it felt like all my hope set with it.

    This was a great overview of the book, I hope you enjoy.
    Sunset in Heidelberg

  • Self Date: A Lovely Day at Heidelberg’s 15 High Restaurant & Bar

    After a particularly hard year — with difficult times at work and a mind that felt like a tangled mess (still does, but that’s a story for another time) — I needed something special.

    There was a new, glamorous rooftop bar near Heidelberg’s main train station. I checked the website for an open spot, and surprisingly, I found one. April 30th, 2024: my date with myself.

    I was ready. Back then, I was unhappy with everything — my weight gain, feeling stuck professionally, and my general mental health struggles. Honestly, I still carry all of that today… but YOLO, right? At least I wanted one special day, in the sea of mundane, everyday tasks that weighed me down.

    So, on a Tuesday evening, the day before a public holiday in Germany, I showered, put on my cheapest earrings (yes, cheap), and dressed in business casual. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I looked nice. Then I made my way to the hotel.

    In my typical naïve fashion, I couldn’t immediately find the entrance. 😀 Lol, classic me. Eventually, I made it, spoke to the staff about my reservation, and was led to my seat — unfortunately not by the windows, but still a nice spot.

    I ordered something fruity — maybe a Lillet Wild Berry or a Limoncello — and for dinner, I went with the chef’s selection. Oh boy… I savored every bite.

    15 High’s chef’s selection

    I can’t remember exactly what kind of fish I had, but it looked like salmon and halibut, with a few prawns on the side. My sides were potatoes and a mix of vegetables, plus a little serving of butter — complete with the restaurant’s logo stamped right into it.

    15 High butter with Logo

    The food was bomb! I’m usually someone who loves very spicy dishes, but this one wasn’t spicy at all — and still, it somehow made my forehead sweat and my heart happy.

    After dinner, I wandered out to the balcony. Honestly though, Heidelberg’s Bahnstadt and the area around the main station weren’t exactly breathtaking… not enough to capture in a photo, at least.

    And that was it: a lovely, much-needed evening during a tumultuous period in my life.

  • Barcelona to Badalona: A Perfect Penultimate Day on My Solo Trip


    My penultimate day in Barcelona: paella, a funny language mishap, and the stunning beaches of Badalona. Perfect for solo travelers!

    My Second-to-Last Day in Barcelona

    After spending six incredible days in Barcelona, my first solo trip was nearing its end. I hadn’t conquered my fear of flying, but that didn’t matter—I had done what I wanted: explored, experienced, and truly enjoyed myself.

    The Paella Experience in Barcelona

    I wanted my second-to-last day to be special, so I searched for a restaurant that served the most iconic Spanish dish ever: paella. I found a cozy spot and even managed to order in Spanish—small victories count when traveling solo!

    When my plate arrived, I was greeted by a stunning lobster sitting on golden rice. It looked perfect… until I tasted it. The rice was way too hard for my liking—not exactly what I had imagined. After paying €20 for a dish where the main ingredient wasn’t to my taste, I felt a little disappointed. Still, trying it was worth the experience because that’s what travel is all about.

    A Funny Supermarket Moment

    After lunch, I wandered into a supermarket to find my favorite cookies: Digestive (brand) with oats and chocolate. I couldn’t spot them, so I decided to ask an employee in English, but then I thought, “Why not try Spanish?”

    That’s when I said, “bisquetas.” Not even a real word! The correct word is “galletas.” The employee laughed, and I turned bright red, but she showed me the cookies anyway. I walked out with my favorite snack and a funny story to tell.

    Badalona: A Coastal Gem

    Later, I headed to Badalona, and wow—what a sight. The ocean stretched endlessly, the sand was soft, and the atmosphere was pure bliss. I stood there, soaking it all in, feeling grateful for the moment. Sometimes, it’s the simplest experiences that leave the strongest memories.

    Have you ever tried authentic Spanish paella? Or strolled along the beaches of Badalona? Share your thoughts in the comments!

    Ocean at Badalona
    Beautiful Beach – Badalona
    Badalona – Peace on Earth

  • Barcelona – Sitges

    When I first planned my trip, I had my eyes set on Girona. But with limited funds, I had to look for alternatives—and I’m glad I did. One of the most beautiful discoveries was Sitges, a small coastal town about 40 km from Barcelona, known for its welcoming village vibe and serene seaside views.

    I didn’t have a set plan or a checklist of things to see. There are museums and a beautiful 18th-century sanctuary—at least it looked beautiful from the photos. Honestly, I went because I stumbled across the name somewhere. I didn’t even know it was such a popular destination, especially for those staying in Barcelona.

    I bought a one-way ticket from Cerdanyola del Vallès to Sitges. The whole trip cost me just 8 euros—something that feels almost utopian in today’s world of post-pandemic inflation and geopolitical turmoil. But at that moment, I felt nothing but pure joy, the kind of happiness that makes you feel lightheaded and carefree.

    The train was slightly delayed, but as someone used to Germany’s famously late trains, it didn’t bother me. When it arrived, I hopped on. The carriage was mostly empty, giving me space to relax, unwind, and take in the journey. And what a journey it was—rolling past cliffs, lush nature, and the endless deep blue sea. Just the train ride alone was worth it.

    Once I arrived in Sitges, I just walked. I wandered through the little alleyways, illuminated by soft spring sunlight. It was quiet—calmer than Barcelona’s constant buzz—and I enjoyed the peaceful solitude without feeling lonely.

    After a bit of exploring, I stopped at a restaurant and ordered cannelloni. I didn’t love it, but it filled me up. Sometimes, that’s enough.

    I ended my visit by walking down to the beach. The early spring sun was gentle but warm. Families strolled with their children, kids laughed and shouted, couples held hands. I stood there, listening to the ocean’s familiar rhythm, feeling the cool spritz of sea spray on my skin. In that moment, I felt content.

    I walked from one end of the beach to the other, soaking in every bit of it. My first little adventure was simple, spontaneous—and absolutely worth it.

    Beach in Sitges

    Ocean in Sitges
    View from the Stones at Sitges
    Sunshine in Sitges
    Sunshine and sand

  • Barcelona – The Mecca for Solo Travelers

    While Greece has my heart when it comes to courage and boldness, Barcelona has my heart when it comes to solo travel.

    It was the first real adventure I embarked on after I started studying. Just the search for a decent Airbnb turned out to be an uphill battle. After canceling two reservations, I finally booked a room in a shared apartment. My host was a Nigerian woman, and her space seemed good enough for everything I planned to do.

    Since I didn’t have much money, I booked a roundtrip ticket with Flixbus. From Heidelberg to Barcelona—just two days on the road. I was happy, excited, a bit insecure—but determined to go.

    I looked up all the major sights: Park Güell, La Sagrada Familia… I was excited, but also anxious. After all, I was about to spend two full days on a bus just to get to Spain and back. I did my research and found that the T-10 ticket would be the best option for my seven-day stay—ten rides for around 10€, each valid for 75 minutes. That would cover about five days of travel to and from the city.

    So, I packed my bags and, on April 2nd, 2019, boarded my Flixbus headed to Barcelona. We rode through Switzerland and France, passing cities like Perpignan, Montpellier, and Geneva (side note: Geneva is one of the most beautiful cities in Switzerland—pity I couldn’t stay!).

    On the morning of April 3rd, I arrived at Barcelona’s bus station. Tired but excited. My first little adventure, all by myself. A mix of pure thrill and a bit of dread—worried about getting lost… or kidnapped (though, honestly, who would want to kidnap me? 😅).

    My accommodations were in Cerdanyola del Vallès, about 17 km outside of Barcelona. After getting lost multiple times, I finally made it. My host, Linda—a kind Nigerian woman—welcomed me and gave me a quick tour of her two-bedroom apartment before heading off to work.

    And then there I was: in a quiet apartment, in sweaty clothes, absolutely exhausted. I couldn’t help it—I jumped straight into bed. I know, I should have taken a shower first… but I barely made it in! So I slept. And slept. And slept.

    Eventually, I woke up—hungry and eager to see the city. I checked Google Maps and found a supermarket about 10 minutes away. Of course, with my questionable sense of direction, it took me longer than that. I walked back and forth (and back again), but finally found it. I pretended my few Spanish phrases made me a native and somehow managed to buy what I needed and make it back.

    (Oh, and yes—I did shower before I went to the supermarket. 😉)

    Since I had already bought my tickets, I decided it was time to finally see Barcelona. I hopped on the next train and headed to the iconic Sagrada Familia—the Roman Catholic basilica designed by Antoni Gaudí and one of the city’s most famous landmarks.

    I just walked around, soaking it all in. My heart full, my head buzzing.

    That was Day One in Barcelona.

    Here’s a picture to make it even more memorable.

    La Sagrada Familia
    La Sagrada Famila – other side 🙂

  • Self-Date: Tipsy, Therapy and Tiramisu

    It was a cloudy April day when I chose to take myself on another self-date.

    I embraced the small troubles of “going” to work. At the time, I was still working remotely—navigating the highs and lows of behavioral therapy. It was a difficult period. Just a couple of months had passed since I got my bachelor’s degree, and I was still tangled in the aftermath of a situationship I couldn’t quite let go of. Still a mess. Still struggling. Just… trying.

    As I mentioned in my first self-date post, my therapist had advised me not to wait for a knight in shining armor. Not for friends, either—friends who were busy, wrapped up in lives of their own. I had to show up for myself.

    So, I did.

    I dressed up. Overdressed, really. I wore this beautiful dark red dress I had gotten from Zara. It wasn’t the first time I’d worn it, but I was definitely showing off a little. For myself. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

    My therapist, of course, noticed. She seemed pleased—maybe even a little proud—that I was trying to get out more, enjoy myself, live a little. Ever the people-pleaser, I was happy to see her happy. But even beyond that… food has always been something I strive for. A reward. A comfort. A ritual.

    After therapy, I stopped by Hunkemöller—a lingerie shop. I bought my favorite bra. It broke just a few months later, but I wore the hell out of it while it lasted. I also splurged on a matching slip. Way too much money for underwear, but I felt fancy. I think, deep down, I was trying to feel sexy. Trying to feel like someone who deserved to feel good.

    Then I made my way to my self-date destination: Papi in Heidelberg. Best pizza in town. If you ever want a slice of Napoli in Heidelberg, that’s the place. It’s a bit pricier than the average spot, but the flavor, ambiance, and experience make it worth every euro.

    For once in my life, I was on time. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—my table wasn’t ready. The waiter was the kind of arrogant that’s polished just enough to pass for charm, especially when tips are involved. He offered me some sparkling wine while I waited. Since I hadn’t eaten much that day and wanted to savor my night, I got tipsy very fast. Big mistake… but kind of a fun one. He offered me a second glass. I said yes.

    About ten minutes later, a sweet and soft-spoken waitress showed me to my table. She had a gentle energy that made me feel even more at ease. I liked her instantly.

    I ordered the Quattro Formaggi—with more wine, of course. (As if I hadn’t already had enough.) Plot twist: I forgot to ask for the pizza without nuts. Oops. I figured I’d just scrape them off later and call it a day.

    As I sipped my wine, the warmth began to spread through me. I was alone, yes—but in that moment, I felt… light. Like I was learning how to enjoy my own company.

    The pizza arrived. Then, shortly after, it disappeared—into my stomach. It was amazing. Neapolitan pizza is the thing. Soft, charred crust, melted cheeses blending like poetry.

    Feeling bold (and a little buzzed), I ordered dessert. Tiramisu. The best I’ve had in my entire 24-year-old life. I didn’t take a photo of it, but trust me—it was heaven. The kind of dessert that makes you close your eyes after the first bite.

    If you wanna go check out Papi on their socials here: https://www.instagram.com/papiheidelberg/

    When it was time to go, I paid, left the lovely waitress a good tip, and stepped out into the night—feeling full. Physically and emotionally.

    No grand revelation. No love story. Just me, a red dress, some excellent wine, and a slice of peace.

THE SPOT

JOURNEY OF JOY

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