This was my first time in Europe and each city taught me something new about solo travel. About what it means to show up for yourself, about finding joy in unexpected places and learning to sit with the discomfort that comes from being far outside your comfort zone.

Solo travel is romantic in theory, but as an introvert, the reality is often something else entirely. You’re constantly pushing yourself to be seen, to connect and to not disappear into the background. Every conversation, every decision, every meal eaten alone is a little act of courage. Booking day tours helped. They gave structure to my days and offered chances to meet people without the awkwardness of forced small talk. They made the world feel just a bit more navigable.

I began in Munich, and the first thing that hit me was the heat. That kind of thick, clinging summer heat that makes every step feel longer than it is. But Munich was rich with history and that weight anchored me. I wandered through memorials and museums that whispered the stories of WWII, each one demanding stillness and reflection. The Hofbräuhaus was a fun stop, but it was in the quieter moments that I felt most connected. At a little market tucked away from the main squares, I bought local cheese, fresh bread and cured meats. Simple food, but comforting. It was the first time I felt the joy of doing something completely ordinary on my own. That became a theme. Letting food ground me. Letting flavour make a place feel like home.

Vienna was elegant and composed, and I didn’t quite know how to fit into it at first. The buildings were grand, the streets clean and stately, and it almost felt too polished to be real. But I found my rhythm through food again. Wiener schnitzel with potato salad. A slice of Sachertorte so dense it demanded silence. A crisp glass of Grüner Veltliner that tasted like summer. It was at this point in the trip that I started to enjoy my own company. I realised I didn’t have to be entertained or validated to be content. Just walking through the streets with nowhere urgent to be was enough. Side note: It was in Vienna that I went to an Australian Pub to feel connected to home. It’s okay to eat the odd travel burger, you know…

Then came Prague. A city of fairy tale rooftops and crowds thick enough to make you forget where the magic is. It was beautiful but I felt off balance. It’s easy to get overwhelmed when you’re alone in a place where everyone seems to be part of a group. Still, the universe handed me a story. My boots had started falling apart and the hotel pointed me to a local repair guy. I ended up in a dim basement, half convinced I’d made a terrible mistake. But instead of danger, I found a bootmaker with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. He fixed them both for the price of one and sent me on my way. No words exchanged, just gestures and a sense of mutual understanding. That moment reminded me that kindness is everywhere if you’re open to it.

Berlin was where things began to click. The city has this gritty pulse to it, a rawness that makes you feel like anything is possible. I joined a night bike tour and it became one of the highlights of my entire trip: there were about twelve of us, from all over the world, and for one evening we were a makeshift family. We rode through the city under streetlights and stories. Past the Brandenburg Gate. Along the East Side Gallery. Through Tiergarten as the sun dipped below the horizon. Our guide told us about war and reunification, love and protest. We ended the night in a beer garden, and for the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was alone. I felt like I belonged. And that’s not just because I ate my weight in currywurst…

The next day I visited Sachsenhausen, my first-ever concentration camp. The silence there was deafening. It was not just about sadness, but the kind of grief that seeps into your bones. It left me heavy. But it also gave me clarity. Some places are not meant to be rushed through. They are meant to be witnessed.

After the intensity of Berlin, Cologne felt like a warm exhale. There was something casual about it. Easygoing. The cathedral was massive and impressive, sure, but the real magic was in the laid-back pace of life. There is a lingering sense of danger where there are concrete bollards throughout key tourist destinations: these are thoughts you try not to linger on. I spent hours walking along the Rhine and eating some of the best kebabs of my life.

Brussels came next. The centre of the EU with a security presence that made itself known. It was a strange contrast. Heavy in places, yet lively and fun in others. I ate more chocolate than I care to admit.

Between Brussels and Amsterdam, I stopped in Breda for the 2017 Redhead Days festival. But that’s a whole other story.

And finally, Amsterdam. The canals. The chaos. The bikes that come out of nowhere. It was vibrant and buzzing, and the perfect place to decompress after a weekend of redhead madness. I walked slowly. Ate deliberately. Smiled more easily. I only got into the Anne Frank House because I had booked in advance. Let that be your takeaway: always book ahead. The queue looked wild.

Looking back, solo travel continues to teach me how to be alone without being lonely. How to push myself without breaking. How to find beauty in quiet moments and trust that connection will find you if you stay open. I went looking for Europe and found parts of myself instead.