20 Years of Travel in Europe: Gratitude, Growth, and the Joy of Slowing Down
A look back at the people, places, and moments that defined two decades of travel.
Twenty years ago, I boarded a plane for my very first trip to Europe — a solo adventure to the Andalusia region of Spain.
I had no idea that journey would change everything — how I see the world, how I connect with people, and even how I live my life.
What started as one slightly anxious traveler clutching a guidebook has become a lifetime of exploring Europe’s winding roads, charming villages, and wild, beautiful corners.
This is my reflection on 20 years of travel in Europe — a story of gratitude, growth and learning to slow down.
A rough start
“Shit! Crap, crap, crap!”
That’s what ran through my head as I rode the shuttle bus from the plane to the terminal at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, terrified I was about to miss my connection.
My first trip abroad — and solo at that — was already off to a shaky start.
That was October 2005, and I was on my way to Andalusia, Spain.
Nervous, excited, and relying on my Lonely Planet guidebook (because no smartphones), I had no idea that this trip — with all its little hiccups and big discoveries — would end up shaping the next 20 years of travel in Europe.
Falling in love with travel — and people
As the plane descended into Malaga, I looked out over the Mediterranean Sea — a stretch of water I’d dreamed of seeing since I was a kid.
My eyes filled with tears.
This was it.
My first European moment.
In Nerja, a lovely Dutch woman walked me — literally walked me — to another guesthouse when hers was full.
No directions, no “try around the corner.”
She just took me there herself.
That simple act of kindness blew me away.
It was my first real taste of how generous people can be when you’re open to the world.
Dinner that first night brought me another small gift — conversation with a warm English/Welsh couple.
We talked about food, family, travel (even US politics) and Spain — all the things that connect us no matter where we’re from.
I didn’t know it at the time, but moments like these would become the heartbeat of my travels.
Then came Granada and a serendipitous meeting on a bus ride to the Alhambra with Aedín, an Irish woman who would become one of my dearest friends.
We started with a simple, “Here’s your ticket” (because I dropped my ticket) to “Want to grab a drink later?” to “Here’s my email. Let’s keep in touch.”
Two years later I visited her in Ireland.
And two more years later, I was photographing her wedding.
Solo travel gave me that gift too — the courage to say hello.
In Vejer de la Frontera, a hilltop pueblo blanco, I spent a day with a French-Italian couple who invited me along on their beach drive.
We were three people, laughing, sharing stories, taking photos — a day I still remember vividly.
That first trip taught me what travel really is: not just seeing the world, but connecting with it.
20 years of travel in Europe and how it changed me
That solo adventure in Spain opened a door I’ve never closed.
Since then, I’ve wandered across Europe — Ireland (more times than I can count), Scotland (some of my longest stays), England, Wales, France, Italy, Turkey, Greece, Slovenia, Croatia, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland.
Over the last 20 years of travel in Europe, I’ve watched this continent change — and I’ve changed right along with it.
In my early years, I wanted to see everything.
I’d hit the highlights, check off the must-sees, rush from one charming town to the next.
But as time went on, I started to slow down — to travel deeper, not farther.
Now I’d rather spend an afternoon walking a quiet trail outside a small town than fighting for a selfie in front of a famous landmark.
I’d rather chat with a café owner than tick off another “top 10” list.
My favorite finds?
Those tucked-away corners — the Scottish ‘village’ that barely shows up on a map, the Italian town with one perfect trattoria, the Irish pub where you are chatting it up with locals as you drink your first pint.
Life happens and shapes how we travel
Travel doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
Life has a way of changing how we move through the world.
Losing my mom in 2015 and my dad in 2023 reshaped everything.
They both encouraged my wanderlust — my mom with her positive, “glass half full” attitude and my dad with his way of bragging endlessly about how great his kids and grandkids were.
You had to live up to it!
In all seriousness, both of them just listened when I needed to talk about my goals and what I wanted to do with my life.
And both of them always believed in me and my dreams.
Traveling after losing them became something more — not just an adventure, but a way to remember, to reflect, and to stay connected to the lessons they left me with.
To live fully, stay curious, be kind and keep finding beauty even when life gets messy.
When I’m walking through the Scottish Highlands or wandering along a beautiful beach in Ireland, I often feel them there — in the stillness, in the joy of simply being.
Wander Your Way: Born from the road
In late 2013, I founded Wander Your Way because I wanted to help others experience the Europe I fell in love with — not the rushed, box-tick version, but the one rich with moments — real, unexpected and deeply human.
The Europe of winding roads, heartfelt conversations, and moments that surprise you.
The kind where a stranger becomes a friend and a detour becomes the best part of your trip.
Through Wander Your Way, I’ve helped travelers discover the places that shaped me.
And in doing so, I’ve realized that guiding others to experience that same wonder is just as rewarding as feeling it for myself.
Looking back … and ahead
It’s wild to think it’s been 20 years of travel in Europe since that nervous girl kept looking at her watch on an airport shuttle bus at the Paris airport, terrified she’d miss her connection.
I’ve visited over a dozen countries, made lifelong friends, lost loved ones, and learned that travel isn’t just about movement — it’s about meaning.
If there’s one thing these years have taught me, it’s this: travel has the power to change your life — if you let it.
It certainly changed mine.
Here’s to another 20 years of wandering — slowly, deeply, and with an open heart.
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