I left home with a bag full of clothes and camera gear, and somehow returned with even more of both. But what truly weighed me down—in the best possible way—were the memories, the scattered phrases from languages I tried to learn, and the quiet, grounded confidence that only comes from being alone in a place where nothing is familiar… yet everything makes sense.
This wasn’t just a trip—it was my first international adventure. A journey anchored by two freelance wedding projects I’d said yes to that year—two stories of love, a month apart. And in the sacred space between them, I promised myself one thing: to wander.
We landed in Paris first—city of clichés, yes—but also, city of delicate mornings and dramatic skies. We had only two days, so we devoured them whole. Mornings began with buttery croissants and air that felt somehow crisper when you’re zipping through narrow lanes on a scooter. Every corner looked like a postcard trying too hard—but somehow, it still took your breath away.
What amazed me wasn’t just the architecture or the glint of gold on old rooftops. It was the rhythm of everyday life. People don’t rush in Paris; they sit. They watch. They exist. Tables line the streets like punctuation marks, and conversations unfold over clinking glasses and soft laughter. Gelatos became our midday rituals, and the traffic—believe it or not—danced to an unspoken choreography. Everything moved, but nothing felt chaotic.
Love was everywhere. In the couples holding hands, in the strangers who smiled at street musicians, in the way the light would fall on old buildings like it had done for centuries. And when I looked up—when I had the time to pause and let the sky in—it spoke to me in different hues, a new palette every hour, as if painting its own love letter to the city.
Soon, it was time for the first wedding in Tuscany. But before we let go, we said a slow goodbye to Paris. We stood beneath the Eiffel Tower as it shimmered at night, walked our little street one last time, caught fleeting glances of late-night Parisian life, and made sure to sip the kind of coffee that lingers on your tongue and in your memory.
From Paris, we journeyed to Florence, where we’d stay before and after the wedding. Tuscany was calling—and with it, the first chapter of the stories I came here to tell.
Moving on to italy- Florence, tuscany, rome, naples


