We were still learning how to travel together. A painting we had both wanted to see. A cold airport in October. A bus ride, a long walk, a hotel room that didn’t quite work. Sometimes we had a plan; sometimes the plan disappeared beneath us, like the elevator that left us twelve hundred feet underground in Poland.
These were the years when Dani became part of the shape of my life—not as an addition to the journey, but as someone walking through it with me. We learned what we noticed, what we argued about, what we could laugh at, and what mattered enough to stop for.
The museum attendant picked up the phone and dialed the restaurant.
He handed it to me.
I listened for a moment, then explained where we were and asked about dinner.
“Reservations for two. Six o’clock. Okay. See you soon.”
When I hung up, I handed the phone back and reached for my wallet.…
The line for tickets began at the bottom of Wawel Hill. Tourists wrapped around a kiosk halfway up the slope, waiting beneath the castle walls.
Dani looked uphill.
“Let’s keep going. There’s probably another.”
So, we kept walking.
She was right.…
The crowd thickened as showtime approached.
We’d claimed a spot on the lawn early, but each new arrival stole another inch of our view until all we could see were the backs of winter coats.
Dani looked around.
“The Restaurant. There.”…
“The king could spy on his guests through the eyes of portraits,” our guide said.
I stepped closer to the painting.
Tiny holes pierced the canvas where the pupils should have been.
Davis leaned toward me and whispered.
“That’s creepy.”
Our guide continued.…
Our sleeper train to Budapest left Munich at midnight.
We’d arrived at the train station well before and waited at the tracks.
An hour passed. The train never came. The tracks stayed empty.
We kept waiting, and a half hour later, our train disappeared from the station’s departures board.…
We came to Roskilde for the Viking Ship Museum.
The cathedral next door changed our plans.
Its brick towers rose above the square, drawing us closer until we found ourselves standing before a heavy bronze door covered in runes and royal symbols.…
Everywhere we went in Kraków, Dani looked for pierogi.
On our first afternoon, she spotted a milk bar and stopped at the door.
“Pierogi. We have to go inside.”
Inside, the room was narrow and bright, with Formica tables and a counter running along one wall.…
We entered near the Vasa’s stern.
The lion-crested figurehead, the emblem of Gustav, jutted over the lobby and over our heads.
From here, a cascade of masts and cannons receded into the distance.
The hull was dark from centuries underwater, interrupted by patches of fresh wood.…
I’d stayed here years earlier, sleeping in a twenty-person dorm.
This time Dani and I had sprung for a private room.
It was late, and we were ready for bed.
“Let me plug in your phone.”
I rummaged through my pack for the charger.…
We’d arrived by bus an hour ago and watched the monstrous video. Footage of survivors; men who looked eighty, having been reduced to bone and cloth.
The captions said they were thirty.
As the credits rolled, a woman called from the back of the theater.…
Our guidebook called October “shoulder season.” Summer tourists had gone home. Winter tourists had not yet arrived.
The airport looked like a modern log cabin dropped beside the runway.
We stepped into the cold night air and climbed aboard the shuttle into Oslo.…
We took our time walking to the Veletrzni Palace, the temporary home of the Slav Epic, hand in hand, taking it all in, while talking about nothing and everything.
I’d first seen the paintings years prior, and I loved it then.…
The elevator left without us.
Dani and I stood in an empty underground dining hall, twelve hundred feet beneath Poland, while employees stacked chairs around us and prepared to lock up for the night. There was only one way out now—the workers’ lift.…
