There is something about travelling alone that gives me a good feeling. Going at your own pace through security, getting a coffee and a croissant and sit down enjoying a good book while waiting for your gate to show up. Walking to the gate (because I gave myself plenty of time arriving early) and waiting it out. Sitting down next some complete strangers who you end up sharing a few words with, in whatever language you both understand (or the language of pointing to things and nodding your head). If you are lucky enough to sit by the window, enjoy the view. See how little things are when you are 10.000 metres above the ground flying at 750 km per hour looking at the melted snow on the top of the Alps, realising it was just over a month ago when they were white coated rocks. There is just something about it. Also about arriving, running, rushing to your bus or train or boat because to get around in Central Europe you may need all three. There is just something about it.