On The Road Again
Driving these paths is the ultimate act of soul-preservation. It’s about stripping away the digital noise until it’s just you, the horizon, and the hum of the engine. You watch the sun drop over ancient stones and deep, cold water. It’s honest, it’s raw, and it’s a hell of a lot of fun. A road trip like this doesn’t just put miles on your odometer; it recalibrates your internal rhythm and reminds you that the best stories are found in the hairpin turns and the roadside diners.
We built this time capsule for the dreamers and the drivers who want the signal, not the static. These journeys are a record of resilience, silence, and the pure joy of seeing what’s around the next bend. The road is open, the tank is full, and the world is waiting to be seen in a clean, steady light. It’s a good thing to get out there and find out for yourself.
Are you ready to drop a gear, leave the noise behind, and find the extraordinary on the open road?
We Road Tripped From Rome To Naples: And It Was Spectacular
Rome to Naples: Four Days of Heat, History, and Perfect Pizza
Our road trip through Italy wasn’t just about checking off UNESCO sites—it was about driving narrow coastal roads that make you question your rental car choice, eating pizza so perfect it ruined all future pizza, and sweating through 43-degree heat while standing in ancient Roman ruins wondering how anyone survived before air conditioning. We flew into Rome from Vienna, met up with friends we affectionately called the M&Ms, grabbed a rental car—absolutely essential for Italian coastal flexibility—and pointed south toward Terracina, Francesco’s family homeland where hospitality isn’t a service, it’s a genetic trait.
Terracina hit us first with that specific Italian magic where ancient Roman architecture casually shares space with morning espresso bars. From there, we traced the stunning coastline through Gaeta’s historic charm and Sperlonga’s beaches that look Photoshopped but aren’t, each town reminding us why Italy doesn’t need Instagram filters. The real revelation came at Herculaneum, Pompeii’s lesser-known sister city preserved by the same 79 AD Vesuvius eruption. Where Pompeii gives you the haunting petrified bodies, Herculaneum delivers intact buildings with polished concrete floors, intricate mosaics, and vivid paintings that shouldn’t have survived two thousand years but did. Walking through rooms where Romans actually lived—not just died—made history feel less like a textbook and more like trespassing through someone’s remarkably well-preserved home.
Then Naples happened. If you want to understand Italian pizza, you go to Naples. Not because it’s trendy, but because they invented it and refuse to let anyone else do it right. We found ourselves at a local pizzeria where the crust had that perfect char-to-chew ratio, the tomatoes tasted like they were picked that morning, and the mozzarella di bufala was so fresh it probably had a name. The pizza was transcendent. The 43-degree heat was not. We learned quickly that summer in southern Italy requires strategy: seek shade aggressively, carry water religiously, and accept that ancient ruins are best viewed quickly before heat stroke becomes a genuine concern.
The trip peaked—literally—at Hotel Scapolatiello in the mountains near Sorrento. Getting there required navigating roads so narrow that “compact car” becomes less of a suggestion and more of a survival requirement. But once you arrive and see those views overlooking the Amalfi Coast, where azure water meets rocky cliffs in a collision of geology and beauty, every tight turn becomes worth it. The hotel managed to be both luxurious and affordable, a rare combination anywhere but especially in Italy’s tourist zones.
Four days wasn’t enough to truly understand Italy, but it was enough to fall hard for its contradictions: ancient and modern, chaotic and serene, affordable and priceless. We left with sunburns, full bellies, and the certainty that Italy doesn’t just whisper from its cobblestones—it shouts, sings, and occasionally throws pizza at you until you pay attention.
SCOTLAND – Islay Whisky, Rosslyn Chapel & Braveheart Highlands
Scotland Road Trip: Highlands, History & Fish Wrapped in Newspaper
There’s something about Scotland that makes you feel alive. Maybe it’s the way the Highland mist rolls over ancient peaks where clans once battled for honor, or the smell of peat smoke curling from an Islay distillery where whisky is still made the way it was centuries ago. Perhaps it’s standing in Edinburgh’s cobblestone Grassmarket, where every stone holds a secret from medieval times, or maybe it’s just the simple fact that you’re driving on the wrong side of the road in an electric car, trying to remember that left is right and right is very, very wrong.
Our eight-day Scottish adventure was everything a road trip should be: unpredictable weather that somehow turned into five straight days of sunshine, impossible landscapes that looked like they were stolen from a Braveheart movie, and fish and chips so perfectly crispy they made the newspaper wrapping seem like part of the recipe. We landed in Edinburgh with a plan and an electric car, ready to navigate the Highland roads and maybe fix a family shed along the way—because that’s what you do in Scotland. You show up for the castles, stay for the repair projects, and leave wondering if there’s buried treasure just beyond the next rolling hill.
Edinburgh hits you first with its medieval charm—the Royal Mile stretching from the castle to Holyrood Palace, the Grassmarket pulsing with history and life, and around every corner, a story waiting to be told. But the real magic was Rosslyn Chapel, that mysterious stone sanctuary wrapped in Knights Templar legends and Holy Grail whispers. You stand inside and feel the weight of centuries pressing down, wondering what secrets are carved into those intricate walls. Then there’s the Falkirk Wheel, a gravity-powered engineering marvel that lifts boats between canals like some kind of industrial ballet. It’s not just functional—it’s beautiful, sitting there against the Scottish sky like sculpture meets science.
But let’s talk about the fish and chips near St Andrews. Forget everything you know about fast food. This was art: golden, crispy, served in actual newspaper like they’ve been doing it since forever. No pickle, no mustard, no nonsense—just pure, salty, vinegar-soaked perfection that made every other meal feel like practice. The locals here are laid-back in that Scottish way where they’ll welcome you like family and then roast you like cousins. The countryside unfolds in impossible shades of green—rolling hills, stone villages, Highland valleys that make you pull over just to stare.
Scotland lives long in the soul not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real. It’s wet and moody, then suddenly sunny and brilliant. It’s ancient and modern, wild and warm. It’s whisky and legends, bagpipes and silence, fish wrapped in newspaper and treasure still buried. You don’t just visit Scotland—you feel it, remember it, and carry it with you long after the road trip ends.
Luleå: The Winter Wonderland You Didn’t Know About
Holland to Luleå: Chasing Winter 1,700 Kilometers North
There’s a certain madness in leaving the flat, sensible cycling paths of Holland in February to drive seventeen hundred kilometers north toward the Arctic Circle. But Luleå, Sweden—a city of eighty thousand souls perched just one hundred fifty kilometers south of where the midnight sun refuses to set in summer—doesn’t advertise itself. You have to go find it, and finding it means endless highways through pine forests, ferry crossings over the Baltic Sea, and watching the temperature gauge drop until you’re not sure if it’s telling you the weather or warning you about a mechanical failure.
We arrived in sub-zero temperatures to a city that shouldn’t be this modern, this vibrant, this alive. Luleå claims five seasons instead of four, and in February, it’s fully committed to winter—the kind of winter where daylight is a four-hour suggestion and the Northern Lights are a legitimate commute hazard. We missed the aurora peak by a week, but the city compensated with an ethereal twilight glow that made everything feel like we were filming a Nordic noir documentary, which, technically, we were. The primary mission was a speed skating marathon on a frozen river so clear you could see straight through the ice to the riverbed below. Watching athletes glide over transparent frozen water while you’re bundled like an Arctic explorer is the kind of surreal that makes you question reality.
But Luleå isn’t just a winter sports backdrop—it’s a living, breathing town painted in the most improbable colors. Swedish architecture doesn’t apologize for itself here: houses in vibrant yellows and trademark reds line the streets like someone decided monochrome was a crime against long winters. The buildings pop against the snow like Scandinavian optimism made tangible. We scored prime seats at a local hockey game, and the atmosphere was electric in that small-town way where everyone knows everyone and the entire community shows up to cheer. For a place this far north, Luleå punches well above its weight in passion and cultural offerings.
The adventure here is the cold itself—ice walking on frozen rivers, marathon racing, dog sledding through snow-covered forests, ice fishing through holes that look like portals to another dimension. The nights demand cozy cafés where hot chocolate and traditional Swedish pastries aren’t optional, they’re survival equipment. Summer in Luleå promises serene cottage vibes with endless daylight and lush green landscapes, but if you’re chasing the kind of experience that makes you feel alive precisely because you’re fighting to stay warm, winter is when you go.
The drive back to Holland felt longer than the drive up, probably because we left a piece of ourselves frozen in that clear river ice. Luleå isn’t a destination you stumble upon—it’s a place you commit to, bundle up for, and remember forever. It’s where natural beauty and cultural warmth coexist in temperatures that should make both impossible.
Amsterdam to Friesland: Dutch Life Beyond the Canals
Amsterdam to Friesland: From 1,500 Bridges to Backyard Alpacas
Amsterdam doesn’t ease you in gently. One moment you’re at Schiphol Airport, the next you’re dodging cyclists who treat red lights as suggestions and trams that move with the confidence of apex predators. We started our Dutch adventure at the Volks Hotel, an old newspaper building reborn as a creative playground complete with ping-pong tables, rooftop hot tubs, and a basement sound bar called “Doka” where late-night disco isn’t optional—it’s the house rule. If you want to feel like a local in Amsterdam, this is where you stay. Not in some sanitized tourist hotel, but in a place where the building itself has stories to tell.
Navigating Amsterdam is an art form. The metro and tram systems operate with Dutch efficiency, meaning they work perfectly if you understand the unspoken rules, and leave you stranded if you don’t. Then there’s the biking—helmetless, fearless, and absolutely liberating. Bikes outnumber people here, and riding without head protection isn’t recklessness, it’s cultural assimilation. We hit the flower markets bursting with tulips that look too perfect to be real, then sobered up at the Anne Frank House, a profound reminder that this beautiful canal city holds heavy history between its gabled facades. Pro tip: book those tickets weeks in advance or you’re just staring at the building from outside.
But the real revelation happened when we left Amsterdam’s seventeen hundred bridges behind and drove north to Friesland, where the Netherlands transforms from urban intensity to pastoral calm. Life here moves at the speed of a “whisper boat”—those silent electric vessels that glide through the canals without disturbing the sheep dotting the fields or the alpacas hanging out in backyard paddocks like they’re completely normal lawn decorations. We found ourselves in Giethoorn, the car-free village where the only traffic jam involves kayaks and ducks, and the biggest decision of the day is which canal to float down next.
Friesland stripped away every Amsterdam stereotype and replaced it with authenticity. We navigated local grocery stores filled with impossibly good Gouda cheese—not tourist trap wax-covered nonsense, but the real aged stuff that makes you understand why the Dutch are proud of dairy. We ate traditional meals in family kitchens, explored villages that haven’t changed much in centuries, and realized this journey had become less about checking off tourist sites and more about understanding what makes the Netherlands actually Dutch.
The trip came full circle: Amsterdam’s energy and innovation balanced against Friesland’s tranquility and tradition. One is the Netherlands the world knows—cosmopolitan, progressive, endlessly photogenic. The other is the Netherlands the Dutch know—quiet, authentic, grounded. Together, they tell the complete story of a country that’s somehow both aggressively modern and deeply traditional, separated by just a two-hour drive and a world of difference.
COSTA RICA ROAD TRIP – Pura Vida Adventures
Costa Rica: Where Happiness is National Policy
Our road trip through Costa Rica in Central America offered more than just scenic vistas. It provided a front-row seat to a unique social experiment where happiness isn’t accidental—it’s national policy. From the moment we crossed into this Switzerland of Central America, the difference was palpable. “Pura Vida” isn’t just a greeting here; it’s the operating system that runs an entire country. People smile more. They move slower. They actually mean it when they ask how you’re doing. And when you learn that Costa Rica abolished its military in 1948 and redirected all that defense spending into education and universal healthcare, the relaxed vibe suddenly makes perfect sense.
We drove from the rugged Central Valley through cloud forests where hummingbirds hovered like jeweled helicopters, past active volcanoes at Rincón de la Vieja where the earth still breathes steam, and down to the pristine Pacific coast where the water is so clear you can see fish deciding whether to bite your line. Every eco-lodge we stayed in ran on renewable energy, every local we met spoke with genuine pride about protecting their land’s biodiversity, and every conversation eventually circled back to the same theme: when you take care of people and nature, both flourish. In 2026, Costa Rica still runs almost entirely on renewable energy, proving that environmental stewardship and economic health aren’t enemies—they’re dance partners.
The route from Monteverde’s misty cloud forests to Guanacaste’s coastal sanctuaries revealed a country that treats conservation as a civic duty, not a burden. We hiked through Santa Rosa National Park where the battles that shaped the nation once raged, now reclaimed by howler monkeys and spider monkeys swinging through canopies. We watched sunrise over Montezuma’s beaches, the jungle alarm clock of birds and monkeys making sleep-ins impossible. We stood beneath waterfalls at Río Colorado, caught fish in Salinas Bay, and explored the volcanic landscapes that remind you this entire country sits on geological dynamite that could blow at any moment—which somehow makes the peace even more precious.
But the real revelation wasn’t the toucan sightings or the perfect beaches. It was watching a society that figured out what most countries haven’t: when you invest in your citizens’ wellbeing and protect your environment, you create something rare. Not perfection—Costa Rica has its problems—but a place where people consistently rank among the happiest on Earth despite not being the richest. The absence of military conflict, the presence of robust social safety nets, and the commitment to keeping their paradise actually paradisiacal has created an entrepreneurial yet laid-back culture that feels like what happens when a country gets its priorities right.
Costa Rica taught us that scenic vistas are just the backdrop. The real beauty is in choosing happiness over weapons, education over conflict, and preservation over exploitation. Pura Vida isn’t just what they say—it’s how they live.
Name and Occupation 